


Nine Months

by TeacupNiffler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Little bit of angst, Post-Hogwarts, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:46:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 76,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25314040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeacupNiffler/pseuds/TeacupNiffler
Summary: It was only for one night. One night that went too far. Now she was stuck with far more of Malfoy than she’d ever intended.Hermione had gone to the Gala to make her ex-husband regret the day he’d left her for another woman. Presented with a wicked proposition from Draco to make her plan a resounding success, Hermione let the fire whisky do the talking and agreed.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 681
Kudos: 1740
Collections: WIPS That Hook You





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello  
> This isn't exactly my usual thing but this extraordinary fluffy little plunny wouldn't let me rest until I wrote it out. Now I pass it onto you, try not to drown in the fluffy goodness. Or the smut. There will be smut. And fluff.  
> If that's what you're here for then I do hope you'll enjoy (and don't forget to review)!  
> Nif.

Hermione didn't know why she had agreed to come.

It was a stupid idea brought on by vapid thoughts and insipid jealously. She’d thought she could make Ron jealous.

She'd gotten Padma to dress her and Ginny, happy to exact a small amount of revenge on her brother for "divorcing the best sister-in-law she had ever and would ever have", had agreed to do her hair. She looked good.

No, scrap that. Hermione Granger had looked in the mirror for the first time knowing she looked and felt drop-dead gorgeous.

Padma had gotten her a deep green gown that clung to her curves, with a deep cut back that slimmed her waist and accentuated her small round buttocks. She wasn't wearing knickers. Hermione had never not worn knickers before, but there was no hiding them under this dress. She wasn't wearing a bra either, although Padma has shown her a neat charm that would hold her breasts up in the lofty position required for the dress and ensured her nipples weren't visible through the clinging fabric.

And it was all a fucking waste.

Ronald didn't have eyes for anyone but his six-month pregnant girlfriend and then they'd left the Malfoy Christmas Gala they were all attending early.

Hermione supposed she deserved that; it was a stupid plan. It wasn't like she wanted Ron back, they'd only broken up five months ago. She'd just wanted him to know what he was missing. What he had so easily given up.

Now she was stuck there sipping her champagne while she listened to a bunch of lofty bureaucrats’ praise Malfoy Industries for their hearty donations to the War Orphans fund. Hermione had clapped politely along, she'd had to. She worked for the War Orphans Fund; therefore, she was required as an employee to kiss the arses of any and all Malfoy Industries employees in attendance.

Hermione snuck another glass of champagne as she slipped away from the crowd and onto the balcony. It was finally empty with everyone inside for the speeches. Hermione gripped the white stone of the balcony wall as she sipped on the crisp champagne, letting the bubbles fizz and pop in her mouth before she swallowed.

She tipped her back with a sigh and looked up at the sky. Stars shone brightly above her, and she wished she could float away with them. Hermione shouldn't have come tonight; she could have made an excuse like she did every year, but she wanted to make a statement to Ron. That she wasn't broken, that she could go on without him.

He hadn't even noticed her.

"You're looking very Slytherin this evening, Miss Granger." A smooth, cool voice invaded her peace.

Hermione forced a polite smile onto her face as she turned.

"Mr Malfoy." She kept her tone calm and even as she watched Draco Malfoy slip out of the shadows.

He was dressed impeccably in black dress robes, and his blond hair was neatly combed back, not a single piece out of place. He hadn’t changed all that much since their Hogwarts days, at least not physically. He still had the lean build of Seeker but now with the added beauty of a man's face rather than the pointy angles of a scared teenage boy. She hadn’t seen him at the Gala and wondered if he had been hiding for most of the evening. She couldn’t blame him; she was doing the same thing.

Hermione had seen Malfoy often since the end of the war, they brushed shoulders at functions and galas such as these. A prerequisite of their employment and social standing. Hermione was one-third of the Golden Trio, and now she worked for the largest charity that had been established after the war. They enjoyed pulling out their war hero from time to time to remind people how much rebuilding there was to be done and to put a sympathetic face on the cause. Malfoy was the CEO of Malfoy Industries and donated large amounts both through his business and as a budding philanthropist. His numerous dedications to the post-war effort had taken him far in the eyes of the wizarding public, despite his less than savoury past.

Hermione didn’t really resent Malfoy anymore. Resentment was tiring, and there were plenty of Death Eaters still locked up in Azkaban to despise if she felt so inclined. Malfoy, despite his incredibly brattish upbringing and attitude throughout Hogwarts, had changed considerably. Hermione's job had profited numerous times from his generous support. He’d also been reasonably contrite during their eighth year at Hogwarts. Even going so far as to apologise to her in the library for his past beliefs. Still, she rarely engaged with him, and until now he had seemed content with that arrangement.

"Shouldn't you be in there?" Hermione nodded to the grand ballroom of Malfoy Manor. "They're all in there praising you."

Malfoy smirked at her; one hand tucked lazily into the pocket of his fine dress robes.

"You mean getting my arse kissed." He paused, running his thumb over his lower lip as he contemplated, "Actually now that I think of it, shouldn't you be in there kissing my arse, Granger?"

Hermione snorted but didn't deny it. Part of working for a charity meant schmoozing the rich and elite, coaxing the money out of their tight fists to barely make ends meet. Malfoy Industries was one of the largest backers of the War Orphans Fund.

"Well, it wouldn't be very conducive then would it." Hermione smirked back, "Seeing that you're out here, hiding in the bushes."

Malfoy chuckled,

"So, I suppose you came out here to find me then," He rose one eyebrow, "and you’re not out here pouting about Weasley."

Hermione's smile faltered at that, and she glanced away.  _ Shit. _

"I must say if you were planning on making the weasel jealous tonight you certainly chose the right dress." Malfoy's eyes roamed her body as he approached.

He made no attempt to hide his gaze as it burned through the thin layer of silk at her breasts, the curves of her hip and the way it pooled over her arse. Despite being ogled so openly, Hermione was surprised to find she didn't feel objectified. She felt powerful. She'd dressed to be noticed, only now the expression she'd so desperately hoped to see on Ron's face was on another man’s. Draco's eyes lingered as he watched her shift further towards him. She didn't feel like an object as Draco's eyes flared, she felt... worshipped.

"It didn't work though," Hermione grumbled, as exciting it was to see Malfoy of all people react so viscerally to her that hadn't been her intended target. Ron had barely glanced her way.

“Didn't it?” Malfoy asked, arching one eyebrow. “Then I suppose the argument I overheard between weasel-bee and his arm piece was about a different woman in a green dress he couldn’t keep his eyes off."

Hermione looked up, "Really?"

She shouldn't have sounded so smug, she realised. It was a petty game with no winner, but as she watched the smirk on Malfoys lips widen, she knew he was amused by her Slytherin-like antics.

"Miss Brown was royally pissed after the third time she caught him drooling over your arse." He confirmed, his own eyes drifting back down to her hips.

Hermione blushed. As stupid as it was, she felt satisfied. It would change nothing in her life and had come purely from a vengeful, spiteful beast inside her, but she revelled in the knowledge that despite leaving her she could still hold at least one power over Ron's head.

"You know for the first time, I find myself sympathising with the Weasel. What man in his right mind wouldn't be looking at your arse in that dress?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

She knew Malfoy was a womaniser, every Pureblood and wannabe socialite clamoured to be seen with him. She also knew his eyes had been trailing her figure since she stepped out onto the balcony. She hadn't taken it seriously until he voiced the thought aloud. Malfoy was actually appreciating her body. Her muggleborn body. Draco Malfoy was... flirting with her?

She looked at his face and whispered

"Malfoy, are you drunk?"

"Not nearly as much as I plan to be." Malfoy slid next to her, took the champagne out of her hand and sipped it slowly. Hermione couldn’t drag her eyes away from his lips as they touched her glass and the sparking liquid tipped across them. He licked his lips slowly as he placed the glass down on the stone once more. Hermione shook herself.

There was another round of clapping from inside the ballroom and Malfoy groaned. He looked across to the closed doors of the balcony and then back at Hermione. A wicked grin flashed across his face and down to her dress once more.

“Tell me, Miss Granger,” he purred, and Hermione was sure this was how he’d managed to make a name for himself as a heart breaker. “How far are you willing to go to exact this little revenge fantasy of yours?”

Hermione blushed,

“Not  _ that _ far.” She said, making sure the warning was present in her voice.

Malfoy smirked,

“Relax, Granger. I wasn’t talking about that. Unless you-”

His eyes trailed down again, and Hermione thumped Malfoy on the shoulder, pushing his body away from hers.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Malfoy. And put your eyes back in their sockets while you’re at it.”

Staring was one thing; Hermione didn’t mind him looking at her, but there was a line she needed to draw in this. Draco Malfoy was a very far step over that line. The world may have changed a lot since the war, but she was still acutely aware of who he was. The smirk on Malfoy’s face didn’t budge.

“Sorry.” He said, smiling and looking completely unapologetic. “I was only suggesting a few photos. There are a lot of no-good gossips in there who would love to write about how I had the most gorgeous woman on my arm tonight.”

Hermione pursed her lips and was about to tell him to sod off when that little beast in her chest laughed. Ron would hate it. It would be easy to brush off as well, a few photos of them at a Christmas ball talking would mean nothing but Malfoy was always in Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet, constant speculation about his dates flooded their pages. No one could get enough of the rich, young bachelor; and to put Hermione, the brains of the Golden Trio there with him… She knew the journalists would eat it up.

It wouldn’t be hard, the little beast inside her purred, a few gentle touches and a whispered conversation. It would be in the next day's press, rumours galore. Rumours, however, that Hermione could dismiss easily. He was the owner of Malfoy Industries, she was one of the more famous faces of the War Orphan fund, this was the Christmas charity gala thrown by Malfoy Industries. It made sense for her to be here, it made sense for her to be talking to Malfoy. She could easily dismiss anything else. A few weeks would pass, everyone would get bored and forget they’d ever cared about Hermione Granger talking to Draco Malfoy at a ball. Some other scandal would take over, and if anyone asked about it, Hermione would fervidly deny the accusations. She’d merely been talking to Malfoy about another charity project.

Ron, however, would be furious. He read far too many gossip columns to be healthy, and he hated Malfoy with a passion. He’d wanted the Slytherin locked up for good after the war but hadn’t been able to do much when it was Harry who had suggested a lighter sentence for Draco and his mother. His success with Malfoy Industries continued to gut Ron, who had moved from the Aurors department down to one of the Magical Law Enforcement's smaller divisions.

Hermione licked her lips and met Malfoy’s eye. Whether he saw the vengeful streak in her eyes or had just assumed she would agree, he grinned and pushed off the stone wall. He approached the balcony door and cracking it open quietly; he held a hand out to her.

_ Oh god Hermione, this is insane _ , she whispered to herself,  _ you’re not seriously going to do this? _ Still, one hand reached out and took Malfoy’s as they stepped through the door together.  _ You’re playing with fire _ , her dutiful conscious yelled at her, but she ignored it. She deserved to have some fun. If it was at Ron’s expense, then all the better. Malfoy tucked Hermione’s hand into his arm and led her around the back of the group.  _ Don’t come crying to me when you get burned. _

Blaise Zabini, standing to the side of the small stage, caught sight of Malfoy and flashed him a pissed off look. As they approached, he slipped closer to them.

“Cutting it close, Draco.”

Malfoy shrugged,

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Blaise flashed a single curious glance at Hermione but otherwise ignored her as he began whispering furiously into Malfoy’s ear. Malfoy nodded a few times but otherwise looked unperturbed. Finally, the round man on the stage ended his speech, receiving another round of applause. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes. When she had started working for a charity, she had been incredibly excited about the work. Hermione hadn’t realised just how much of her work would mean rubbing shoulders with the rich and how often she would need to hear them congratulating themselves on their incredibly generous work. Hermione didn’t care if they threw themselves a parade as long as she was able to get enough donations to fund her projects.

Zabini nudged Malfoy’s shoulder, who let out an almost undetectable sigh over it. Malfoy’s legendary smile flicked on like a lightbulb as cameras turned to him. He leant to whisper to Hermione,

“I’ll be right back.” He said, his nose brushing a loose curl as he spoke. Hermione could feel eyes on her as she smiled back at him.

“Try not to kiss too many arses.” She whispered.

Malfoy’s grin slipped into something more genuine at her response.

Hermione watched Malfoy take the small stage but tuned out quickly. It was a good speech, all about progress and empowering those less fortunate. The rest of the crowd listened attentively, but Hermione had heard every version of this speech there was possible to make.

“Granger,” Blaise nodded to her quietly, apparently acknowledging her now he had managed to rope Malfoy into playing the attentive businessman. “You look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you.” She replied, keeping her head directed towards the stage the same as Zabini did. They looked attentive to Malfoy’s speech but he whispered to her again.

“Do I want to know what you two are up to?” He asked.

Hermione blushed,

“Probably not.” She admitted.

“ _ Hmm, _ ” Zabini said after a pause, “I saw Ronald was here earlier. With his new girlfriend.”

Hermione pursed her lips but said nothing. Zabini’s voice lowered even further and dripped with disdain as he said,

“She’s looking very… progressed for only being  _ five _ months along.”

Hermione tried not to snort. She’d known that was the angle they were going for. Hermione also suspected that there had been some level of bribery to the Prophet, the only article written about Ron and Lavender’s expected child had been in a very positive light. They had very briefly brushed over the fact Lavender was apparently due precisely nine months after Hermione and Ron had ended their marriage.

“Yes, well.” Hermione replied, “I wish her all the best in her pregnancy. Hopefully, she’s resting well. It would be a terrible shame if she were to deliver early.”

Hermione predicted it would be almost a full month early, in fact. She was sure the Prophet would praise the preemie for being so well developed considering the circumstances. Zabini’s lips curled.

“Yes,” he said, glancing at her and meeting her eyes for a second, “it would be terribly  _ unexpected _ if she were.”

Hermione smirked back. She shouldn’t have said anything but then, why should she bother protecting them. They had done nothing to protect her from the nasty shock of finding Ron moved out of their shared flat and into Lavender’s home when she returned from a three-day business trip.

Hermione had been informed by a letter left on the kitchen bench that Ron was gone and could she be a dear and not make a fuss about anything. Divorce papers were also left on the table. Hermione, despite wanting to, hadn’t made a fuss. Ginny, on the other hand, had made a very public one. As had Harry. And George. And Mrs Weasley, to Hermione’s surprise.

Hermione had allowed herself to wallow for three weeks, being pummelled with cake and biscuits and too many baked goods to poke a stick at before she pulled herself out of her bed and went back to work. It was in the shower than Hermione realised it had been three weeks since she’d had to listen to Ron whine about the MLE, three weeks since she’d spent the weekend cleaning up after and cooking for her husband, three weeks since she’d had to explain to him again why she needed to work that weekend. Suddenly Hermione realised it was… freeing. After that realisation, things became more manageable. Not perfect, but easier to deal with. The announcement that Lavender was pregnant less than two weeks after that had hurt but she’d taken it in her stride, determined to show herself and the world she was better off without the Weasel she’d called a husband for three years.

The crowd clapped again as Malfoy finished speaking. He stepped down from the stage and came straight to her.

“How did I do?” He grinned, one hand brushing the small of her back as cameras turned towards them.

Hermione smiled politely, keeping her face light as she turned attentively to him. One hand brushed his upper arm softly. Affectionate but not overly so. They stood close to each other, but not touching. Together but deniably so. Just close enough to be having a friendly conversation as the music of the evening began again. Camera flashed as Hermione batted her eyes and smiled up at him. She kept her voice low so that no one but their small party of three could hear.

“I’ve no idea.” She said, “I wasn’t listening.”

Malfoy laughed. Even Zabini, standing on the other side of him snorted.

“Shut it, Blaise.” Malfoy said over his shoulder.

“Sure, Boss,” Blaise said, still smiling. “Just good to see that big head of yours deflated once in a while.”

Hermione laughed this time.

“Draco Malfoy with a big ego,” She winked at Blaise, “Who would have believed it?”

Malfoy groaned, and Blaise sniggered at him.

“I like her.” Blaise said, “Can you try not to fuck it up?”

He addressed the later part to Malfoy but Hermione, her back now turned to the camera’s as they spoke to Blaise wrinkled her nose at him.

“There’s nothing to fuck up.” She said, amusement leaving her voice. “I can promise you that.”

Malfoy chuckled,

“No.” He agreed, “Only an amusing plot for revenge.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and Hermione tried not to gasp as she felt Malfoy’s hand brush the exposed skin on her lower back. The dress she was wearing had a deep cut out on her back, showing off the dip of her spine and Malfoy’s fingers now danced across the skin, making her nerves tingle. Any lower and he would be roaming into the vicinity of obscene. Hermione realised with their backs turned to the huddle of reporters they would be getting a full view of the brief but intimate touch.

Hermione’s cheeks burned. She had agreed to this but,  _ oh god _ , she wasn’t prepared for the way his fingers brushed her skin so gently it sent currents of electricity racing up her spine.

Malfoy looked down at Hermione. Even with her heels, he was almost a head taller than her. Hermione could only nod as he suggested getting a drink. As he pressed more firmly on her back to guide her away Blaise called after him.

“Don’t forget you have another announcement later, Draco. I expect you back here!”

Malfoy waved one hand at his friend and employee. Hermione got the distinct impression that Malfoy had no intention to return for the final speech of the night.

They reached the large champagne fountain near the edge of the great room. Sipping on her glass, Hermione found she didn’t get much of a chance to talk to Malfoy after that. Important men and women approached him to discuss everything polite society could, though most of it a guise for asking about his business and potential investments. To her surprise, Malfoy actually introduced and engaged her in the conversations. It was both unexpected and actually highly beneficial to her. She had learned how to schmooze with the best of them and by the time the crowd was called to gather again she’d secured three donations to her latest project on elvish welfare.

“You actually look like you’re enjoying yourself, Granger,” Malfoy said when they were finally left alone.

Hermione snorted,

“Not exactly.” She said, “but I just got promised more money than I received all last quarter.”

Malfoy looked impressed. He too had secured some business deals, but Hermione presumed that was a regular occurrence for him. She had gone into this ridiculous one-night vengeance plan only looking to piss Ron off however it had suddenly become all the more advantageous.

The crowd clapped for one more pompous arsehole wishing them a merry Christmas when Malfoy groaned.

“Granger,” he said, “how would you like to earn the biggest donation your organisation has ever seen?”

Hermione’s eyes widened, looking as Malfoy backed away from where they stood.

“What?” She hissed at him. That would be an excessive amount of money.

“ _ Shh _ .” He hissed back, “Just cover for me, and I promise you’ll have the funding for your little elves.”

Hermione stared at him as he slipped behind one of the long tapestries on the wall. Hermione blinked, what the hell was he talking about.

“Hermione.” She spun to see Blaise walking towards her, a deep frown on his face. “Where’s Draco?”

Hermione hesitated, almost telling him that the idiot was hiding behind the tapestry but stopped herself. If Malfoy was being genuine about the donation, she could simply tell Blaise she didn’t know where he was, and if he wasn’t serious, it wasn’t really her problem if Malfoy ruined his own Christmas Gala by not showing up for one more speech.

“I, uh,” She stuttered. “He said he was going to get some more drinks.”

Hermione realised what a stupid lie it was when Blaise lifted one eyebrow and glanced at the large Champagne fountain next to them. It was the primary source of drinks for the Gala, not to mention the number of floating trays distributing beverages to the rest of the room.

“Right,” Blaise said sarcastically. “Well, if you do see him tell him he owes me a damn raise.”

Hermione nodded, there was no point trying to push her lie, and Blaise was obviously accustomed to Malfoy’s antics. Hermione watched Blaise walk back across the room just in time to take the stage, fishing a speech out of his pocket and beaming at the crowd.

“ _ Psst _ , Granger.”

Hermione turned; Malfoy stuck his head out from behind the tapestry. Hermione widened her eyes at him, what the devil was he playing at. Malfoy held the fabric aloft and jerked his head, indicating for her to join him. Hermione glanced around the room, making sure no one saw her as she slunk to the wall.

“Malfoy,” she whispered, “What are you doing?”

He took a step back and revealed a stairway. Hermione tried to look down it, but it was almost pitch black, she had no doubt that the Malfoy manor had dozens of secret passageways, but she’d never expected to see one.

“You mentioned to Odair you’re a fan of fire whisky.” He said, referring to one of the many conversations they’d had earlier with the very important people she hadn’t remembered the names of.

It was true, she did like fire whisky. Nonetheless she glanced dubiously at Malfoy. There was a difference between playing their little charade out here and following him down into a dark tunnel.

“Why?” she asked carefully.

“Because I’d rather go down there to my extensive collection of fire whisky than stay up here for all the press photos that are about to happen.”

Hermione shuddered; she’d had enough photos taken of her for one night. And fire whisky did sound good. Maybe it was a dumb idea. Perhaps it was the fourth glass of champagne that made her do it. Regardless, Hermione slipped under Malfoy’s arm and into the dark tunnel. Reason and logic be damned, she had already done a dozen stupid things this evening. What was one more?

“You owe Blaise a raise.” She informed him after he dropped the tapestry.

“I gave him a raise two months ago when I missed the Halloween speeches.” He muttered as he pulled out his wand and with a flick the walls of the tunnel lit up, glowing red flames licking at their torches every few metres. “He’ll live.”

The tunnel wasn’t terribly long, but it still took Hermione almost three minutes to navigate all the stairs in her heels. At one-point, Malfoy threatened to carry her the rest of the way although he’d shut up when she’d fixed him with a sharp glare.

“Oh, wow.” Hermione breathed as they finally reached the end of the path.

They were standing in a large open room, the walls cut into solid rock and rows upon rows of bottles nestled neatly into individual nooks. It was the most extensive cellar she’d ever seen. Malfoy shrugged at her side. He walked to a wooden shelf, filled with bottles that were all either opened or expected to be open soon. He pointed Hermione to a small area nearby with two armchairs and a matching French chaise lounge that faced a crackling fireplace. It looked out of place in the deep cellar. Still, it would be more comfortable than sitting on the cold, hard floor.

“So,” Hermione said curiously once they were each settled in opposing armchairs with a large glass of fire whisky in hand. “I know why I wanted to torment Ronald, but what are you getting out of this agreement, Malfoy?”

Malfoy sipped on his glass and smirked,

“Can’t I just do it out of the goodness of my heart?” He said.

“No,” Hermione said, laughing. “I’d never believe that. You are as Slytherin as they come, Malfoy, you wouldn’t do it if it didn’t benefit you in some way.”

Malfoy smirked over his glass of fire whisky. He didn’t seem offended by the accusation. Actually, he looked a little proud of it.

“Fine.” He said, “There were two reasons.”

Hermione lifted an eyebrow and waited.

“First,” Malfoy said with a devilishly satisfied grin, “anything that pisses off the Weasel makes me incredibly happy.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but said nothing. She knew Ron felt the exact same way about Malfoy and to be honest, right now, all Hermione wanted to do was piss Ron off too. Not very mature but an enemy of my enemy and all that.

“and second,” Malfoy lost a little of his mirth, “you, Miss Granger, are a very valuable commodity.”

Hermione frowned at that.

“What is that meant to mean?” She growled, sounding a little more offended than she would have liked.

Malfoy looked away as if realising this might not have been the best thing to say to the somewhat drunk Gryffindor.

“I mean,” he began, “Malfoy Industries is well respected, but some of my acquaintances are still a little hesitant when it comes to trusting me personally.”

“Shocker,” Hermione mumbled over her glass. Malfoy ignored her remark.

“But with the Gryffindor Princess, brains of the golden trio, war heroine, defender of all that is righteous by my side, suddenly they’re all the more willing to work with me. All those men up there tonight were so distracted by the presence of the great, most wise Hermione Granger they didn’t realise they were agreeing to vastly unequal deals that benefited me greatly.”

Hermione paused and contemplated it. She could accuse him of using her, but hell, she had too. Both to annoy Ron and she’d managed to get several donations for her job. If anything, Malfoy had done exactly what her boss had sent her there to do. She opened her mouth to tell him this when Malfoy’s eyes flashed mischievously.

“That or they were just too distracted by your tits to realise how much of their business they were signing away.”

Hermione gapped, then burst into loud laughter.

“Malfoy, you are a pig!”

His eyes raked her chest as it heaved under her laughter, and he shrugged at her accusation. Finally, as her mirth receded, she held out her glass.

“More fire whisky.” She demanded from him.

It was damn good. Dangerously so, it was rich and smooth sliding down the throat with a delicious burn. Hermione stood up after Malfoy claimed her glass and kicked off her high heels, they were bad enough when she was sober but now that she was bordering on downright drunk, she wobbled precariously in them.

“Getting comfortable, Granger?” Malfoy chuckled at her as she basked in the firelight, shoes strewn across the floor.

“ _ Hmmm _ .” She took the glass of fire whisky from him happily. It too warmed her from the cold of the cellar.

Malfoy peeled off his own shoes and his outer layers of robes and leant against the armchair. Hermione glanced at him, despite his calm demeanour Malfoy looked as drunk as her, his hair slowly losing its perfectly styled look. She was sure her hair was undoing itself, slowly returning to the mass of untamed curls.

If anyone had ever told Hermione that she would one day be in the cellar of Malfoy Manor drinking from their very old, very expensive fire whisky collection while enjoying listening to Draco Malfoy insult Ronald Weasley and ogle her breasts she would have slapped them so hard they couldn’t see for a week. Yet, as she rotated herself in front of the fire, she had to admit she was having a good time.

Maybe the method in which she had arrived here was terribly morose, but right now she would rather spend a year in Malfoy’s company than a day in Ron’s. She had been terribly excited about her prospects after the war. She was going to complete her NEWTs, she was dating Ron, and she had grand plans for the future. They’d gotten married just over a year after the battle of Hogwarts, despite the concern from Hermione’s parents. She had recently made a mental note to consult her mother more, it turned out she had predicted everything correctly.

Regardless, Hermione had been happy for a time. She’d believe Ron was too. They both began working, bought a flat and even talked about children. Then Hermione had started getting promotions at the War Orphans Fund, W.O.F. for short, while Ron got unofficial demotions. They’d half-heartedly tried for a baby for about two months before Ron got fed up and just decided that Hermione couldn’t get pregnant and finally, they’d just stopped having sex altogether.

She wasn’t overly surprised when he started pulling away and spending more time at ‘work’. She’d seen the end of their relationship coming, she just hadn’t realised that it would be at the end of Lavender Brown’s vagina.

Hermione sighed and flopped onto the small chaise, legs still on the ground but laying back to look up at the roof. She shook herself, trying to dislodge the thoughts of her ex and their demise. She was having a good time, drinking good alcohol and had semi-decent company.

“What’s got you in a huff?” Malfoy asked, having silently watched her descent into irritation.

Hermione shrugged, trying to get back to the light-hearted alcohol-induced state she’d been enjoying moments before.

“Nothing.”

“You look like you’ve got your knickers in a twist.” He said, shifting off the armchair and standing above her.

Hermione giggled, realising where she was and how she was dressed and giggled more as Malfoy looked down at her like she was daft.

“I’m not wearing any knickers.” She guffawed then slapped a hand over her mouth realising she’d just announced it to Draco Malfoy.

As she looked up, Hermione saw Malfoy’s eyes darken. His pupils dilated as he stared down at her and he swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he said,

“That, Granger, isn’t playing fair.”

He looked like he was struggling to control his emotions and something deep in Hermione’s gut dropped. He was serious, she realised. All the playful comments and teasing her about her dress: he was serious, he actually found her attractive. Now he was standing above her, tie loose and top button of his shirt unbuttoned, a half-empty glass of fire whisky in hand as his dark eyes drank her in.

No one had ever looked at her like that. Not even on her wedding night had Hermione felt such a deep, almost primal draw like she did now. He wanted her. He looked at her now like he desperately wanted to taste her and Hermione was sure her pupils dilated at the very thought of it.

It had been a long time since Hermione had had sex. A very, very, very long time. She swallowed.  _ This was not a good idea _ , a small part of her screamed as it bobbed up and down in an ocean of fire whisky and lust.  _ This is not right; you’ve gone too far. Pull back before we’re lost forever. _

Hermione couldn’t hear the voice, the roaring of her blood in her ears was too loud. Who cared if this was wrong? Wasn’t this whole evening wrong? She had come for revenge, she had come here to make herself feel better. She was sure the man above her now could make her feel better. Multiple times. Over and over again.

Hermione licked her lips as her own eyes roamed Malfoy’s body. He was still staring at her, breathing heavily and she wondered if her own matched it. Hermione burned under the heated look he gave her, but it was seeing the bulge in his pants that gave her the courage to move.

Slowly, without breaking the spell they were under, she slipped her knee in between Malfoy’s legs. She pushed him down and forward until he realised what she was doing.

“Draco,” she whispered, “I want you to touch me.”

His breath caught in his throat at her request. She’d push his knee until it was pressing against the velvet of the chaise, he was kneeling above her, partially between her legs. She slipped her other leg up, grazing the outside of his leg until she felt a hand slip under her knee.

Malfoy looked down at her leg and gently brushed the soft skin with the pad of his thumb. It forced the gown she wore up, pooling it at her mid-thighs. The stunned look on his face broke then, he placed his glass of fire whisky on the stone floor gently. When he met her eyes again, Hermione knew.

Malfoy slipped both hands under her thighs and with a sharp yank, pulled her down the chaise. The rough movement made her gasp as her hips nestled under his own. He ran his hands over her dress, touched her hips and glided them along her waist as he leant over her.

“Say it again.” He growled.

Hermione didn’t hesitate. She would have begged him if he asked, the sensations of his hand skirting her sides, up to the bottom of her breasts were ecstasy. They sent shivers of anticipation to her navel, she parted her lips as he bent low above her head.

“Touch me, Draco.” She whispered, watching his eyes dilate further.

Draco captured her lips in his, kissing her forcefully as a groan escaped her throat, and she wrapped her hands around him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn’t think I’d leave you all high and dry like that did you? Remember when I said this fic is smutty… well, it’s time to live up to that.
> 
> Thank you for the overwhelming response so far, I can’t wait to see what everyone thinks of this chapter. I’m just going to drop you in the thick of where we left off, hope you enjoy!

* * *

Hermione panted as Draco released her lips, his hand smoothing over her breasts as he watched her. His thumb passed over her nipple. She felt the magic holding them break, it was designed to protect her from the cold not this kind of stimulation. Through the fabric, his thumb teased the now erect peak, and Hermione couldn’t stop her panting breath.

Draco smirked as he tormented her and Hermione swore she would get her revenge. Slowly, he pinched one nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it between them as she moaned and jerked her hips up into him.

“Not yet, love.” He murmured into her ear as she rubbed against him, trying to find enough friction for release.

He nipped, licked and sucked on her neck as his hand continued to play with Hermione’s nipple. He dragged his teeth against her collarbone, making her writhe in his arms and yank his head back by his hair.

His eyes danced as she dragged him close enough to capture his lips with hers, this time nudging his mouth open and tangling her tongue with his. She twisted her hands in his hair further, pressing him down on her as he snogged her. She knew she’d gotten the upper hand when, with her nipples now abandoned, Draco ground his erection into her. She moaned into his mouth when the seam of his trousers pressed roughly against her, bringing a friction she desperately chased after in soft gasps.

Malfoy pulled away from their kissing, nipping at her chin and then her throat as he growled,

“Cheeky minx.”

Hermione had wrapped her leg around Draco and was seeking her own pleasure; rubbing against his erection as she’d distracted him with her tongue. He sucked hard on the base of her neck before wriggling free of her grasp.

Hermione frowned at his wicked smile as he slipped one arm under her knee again, lifting it to kiss the inside of her thigh. Draco kissed her gently, lips barely brushing against her heated skin. Clearly attempting to torture her slowly as he kissed her inner-thigh lazily. He edged closer and closer to the desperate ache he had created between her legs.

“Please” she whinnied under his touch, trying to press into him.

She needed something more substantial than his featherlight touch burning her skin and making her throb.

“Patience, Hermione.” Draco kissed the words into her skin, “I heard a rumour you’re not wearing any knickers, and I intend to find out.”

Hermione shifted her hips as his deft fingers found the edge of her dress and pushed it higher, grazing her arse as he pushed it over her hips and exposed her to him.

Part of Hermione thought she should be embarrassed to be laid bare to him in such a manner. To have so much of her body exposed in the cellar of Malfoy Manor with dozens of guests’ floors above them, drinking and dining heedless to the fact their host was currently dragging his thumb through her folds and pressing against her clit.

“Oh gods,” Hermione moaned, arching her back at the intense sensations he created in her body.

Draco slowly rubbed his thumb in a circle, watching her face as he lowered his head to her now glistening slit. One slow pass of his tongue along the length of her had Hermione moaning and reaching down to grip his hair.

He grinned into her as she stared down at him, her eyes dilated and desperate for more. He didn’t torment her this time. Instead, his tongue pressed against her clit, flicking and lapping at the little bud as she clenched her hand in his hair.

Hermione wasn’t new to sex. She’d had good sex before, but cunnilingus was something that had never really gotten her anywhere. They had tried a few times in her marriage; it generally ended with her frustrated and Ron annoyed.

This, however, was a completely new experience for her. Draco twisted his tongue around her clit, teasing and gentle before lapping lower and delving inside her passage with his tongue. He moved back to her clit, short teasing strokes before hard punishing ones pushed her closer and closer to the edge. One arm reached around her waist, tilting her upwards, changing the direction of his pressure and Hermione threw her arm out grabbing the fabric of the chaise, scrunching it hard in her hand as she moaned his name.

“Draco,” she begged, she was so close teetering on the end of something mind-blowing as he swapped back to the short teasing strokes. “Please.”

Draco shifted, getting himself comfortable between her legs as he continued to devour her. Hermione thought she would break entirely as he pressed one finger to her entrance. He pushed it into her slowly before pulling out and adding a second. The sensation of him inside her, the pressure of him plunging his finger, crooking them to hit the bundle of nerves in just the right place drove her hips upwards, lifting away from the chaise entirely as she chased her orgasm.

Hermione broke in waves, moaning her pleasure loudly as Draco continued to strum his fingers inside of her, coaxing her over the edge as his bright eyes watched her face.

“Oh god, Draco.” She panted as she came down from the intense pleasure that still sent little shock waves through her.

Draco shifted his body forward again, carefully leant over her, the arm supporting himself now resting above her head. His left hand still pumping inside of her passage, relaxing the tight muscle.

“You’re beautiful when you come.” He said as he kissed her gently.

He tasted like her juices, but Hermione didn’t care. His lips were soft against hers, and she kissed him back passionately. Hermione hadn’t come like that in months, possibly years. He had given her that, and she wanted more of him. He pinned her with his body on the small chaise, and his fingers were unstoppable.

Hermione had to break their kiss finally as she moaned, the slow ministrations of his fingers were building the pressure inside her again. She covered his hand with her own and tried to push him to go faster, or deeper, or-

Hermione gasped as Draco slipped the slim sleeve of her dress over her shoulder and exposed her breast to him before latching his mouth around her nipple and sucking hard. He pulled at it until it hardened tightly, almost painfully so and then he swiped his warm tongue across it. Removing his mouth, he blew cold air across her nipple, and she gasped at the contrasting temperatures that raged in her body.

Draco gave an amused chuckle at her and kissed her firmly on the lips.

“Do you want to come again, love?” He whispered in her ear, nibbling her earlobe.

“Fuck, yes.” Hermione moaned, trying to rub her whole body against him.

“Such language, Miss Granger.” He muttered as he moved back to lap at her nipple then punished her with the same cold blast of air from his mouth.

“ _ uuh _ ” Hermione’s body burned under him, the building need inside of her swelling and bucking for release.

Malfoy watched her greedily, and Hermione knew he was toying with her. He had already brought her over the edge once, and now he wanted to watch her unravel for him again. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his shoulder, wishing she could touch him, kiss him, torture him like he was to her.

“Look at me, Hermione.” He whispered.

She did, moaning as he sped up, thrusting his fingers inside her quickly now. Plunging and pushing inside of her, he brushed his thumb against her clit, and that was it. Hermione moaned, brown eyes still staring into Draco’s greys until he captured her orgasm with his lips, kissing her until she came down again. Her eyes fluttered, and toes curled until he slipped his fingers out of her.

Malfoy sat up and pulled Hermione with him until she was sitting in his lap, straddling him and trying to slow her rapid heartbeat. She leant her head on his shoulder, trying to catch her breath. Draco fixed her sleeve, so she was technically now redressed. Sans the knickers that she’d never had.

Draco rubbed his hands up and down her back until her breathing stilled, and she lifted her head.

“ _ Mm _ ” she purred contently; eyes half-closed.

Draco chuckled at her.

“Alright there, Granger?” He asked.

Hermione lazily opened her eyes and shook her head.

“Hermione.” She said forcefully, then smiled. “You don’t get to touch me like that and then go back to calling me Granger.”

She hoped she wasn’t overstepping. She didn’t mean to imply they had any kind of relationship, but it just seemed wrong to have someone who had touched her like that call her by her last name. She felt herself tensing, worried she had ruined the mood until Draco chuckled and kissed her collarbone.

“Alright, Hermione.” His voice was a soft tease. “Do you want something to drink?”

Hermione nodded. Malfoy leant over without dislodging her from his lap and picked something off the floor. Twisting the glass of fire whisky so that it didn’t spill, he nodded to it,

“It’s this or wine down here.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him but took the glass and sipped the fire whisky. Hermione offered it to him, and he sipped it while it was still in her hands, making her giggle as she tipped it back for him to drink out of. He ended up with fire whisky on his lips, and Hermione tilted her head to kiss it off him.

“ _ Mm, _ ” he muttered when she released his lips, “You taste like fire whisky.”

“You taste like pussy.” She teased, fire whisky dulling the sense that typically would have made her blush at the phrase.

He did, even with the fire whisky on his lips she could taste her own sharp tang underneath. Malfoy snorted at her and buried his head to her neck. He sucked hard leaving a mark on her and making her gasp. Hermione bit his lip in retaliation then kissed him hard.

Draco pulled her against his chest, and they snogged furiously for a long time. Each taking turns to nip and suck at the others lip, fighting for control. Hermione managed to get to his neck and left him a bruise of her own, drunkenly giggling at the dark colour marring his white skin. Draco snogged her again in retaliation, and she pressed against him; rubbing herself on the bulge of his trousers until he broke the kiss and panted into her chest.

Hermione slipped a hand between then, touching his trousers and feeling the hard mass underneath. She wanted him; she was ready for him again. Hermione pulled at the button of his trousers with one hand, pleasantly surprised when it popped open for her. She quickly undid the zip and slid her hand inside, freeing Draco from his confines, causing him to lean back on the chaise with a satisfying hiss.

Hermione licked her lips and grasped his cock, she stroked up and down his length gently. She looked down and watched her hand. It was wrapped around his girth and pumped him up and down, Hermione enjoyed the way his cock twitched in her hand, appreciating her touch. She wanted nothing more than to slowly pump him in her hand and watch Draco come undone at her touch. She wanted to go slow and watch him tip precariously over the edge into bliss the same way he had done to her. Hermione was just considering what it would be like to wrap her mouth around his impressive length when his hand grasped hers, and he bit out in short panting breaths.

“Stop, Hermione.”

Hermione frowned at him, worried whether he wasn’t enjoying the way she was touching him. His moans had suggested otherwise, and when she looked at his face, his grey eyes were glazed as he grinned.

“I’m going to come if you keep going,” he said. Hermione opened her mouth to tell him she wanted precisely that, but Draco continued, “and I’m not going to waste this chance to shag you in front of that fireplace.”

Even though Hermione’s hand was still wrapped tightly around him, she blushed at his words. Draco grinned at her and kissed her again, distracting her as he re-tucked himself into his briefs.

He grabbed his wand from the coffee table. Quickly he cast a softening charm on the hard stone and then another to move his robes to the place in front of the fire, transfiguring them into a soft blanket.

Hermione squealed a little as Draco stood up, his hands on her arse, lifting her as he went. She laughed as he carried her to the fireplace and gently placed her on the soft blanket. That was the most control she let him take over the situation; however, as she knelt quickly and began unbuttoning Draco’s shirt, kissing his chest as she pulled it off him. In turn, Draco slipped his hands under her dress and managed to pull it over her head.

Hermione thought it wasn’t fair that she was now completely bare, divested of the single item she wore. She pulled at Draco’s pants, and he helped her remove them altogether when she let out a frustrated growl at them getting stuck at his knees.

Laying her down on the blanket, Draco pushed his knee between hers, spreading her legs and leaning to kiss her breasts. One hand gently pulled and rolled her left nipple while her right was pulled into his mouth and the sucking motion pulled a long groan from her throat. Her hips bucked, trying to find another pleasure source and Draco smiled around her nipple. After a few moments more of torturing her poor nipples, he pulled back and tilted her hips towards him, one hand lazily pumping his cock as Hermione eyed it possessively.

As she licked her lips, Draco leant over her.

“Are you ready, love?” He whispered in her ear.

“Gods, yes.” She moaned back, hands already pulling at his hips.

Draco positioned himself at her entrance, the warmth of her already pressing around the tip of his throbbing cock. Hermione panted needily at his slow pace then just as he was about to push into her, she shot up.

“Wait, no!” She yelped, startling Draco who watched her with alarm.

He pushed away from her, and she grabbed at him.

“No,” she said again, in a different tone and receiving a look just as confused and alarmed. “I need a wand.”

Hermione looked around frantically. She’d brought her wand with her, where the hell was it?  _ Oh, Merlin _ , she spied her shoe throw haphazardly on the other side of the armchair. She’d put her wand in a small purse borrowed from Padma that was too annoying to carry. She’d shrunk it, placed a convenient undetectable extension charm and attached the bag to her shoe. Until now she’d thought it a genius idea.

Draco frowned, confused by Hermione’s change and frantically darting eyes until suddenly realisation dawned on him.

“Oh gods,” he said, snatching his wand off the coffee table and shoving it in her hands, “Here, use mine.”

Hermione took it gratefully, smiling awkwardly up at him. Draco, nerves still tingling, picked up the glass of fire whiskey as he said.

“Merlin, Hermione. You scared the hell out of me.”

Hermione winced, it hadn’t been exceptional timing to remember the contraceptive charm, but it was better late than well, too late. Hermione pointed Draco’s wand at her stomach and said

“ _ protego concipio…  _ argh, Draco did you just drop fire whisky on me?”

He had, trying to put the glass back on the coffee table he’d managed to get distracted by the sight of Hermione’s tits and tipped the glass as he leant over. She now had small droplets of the brown liquid rolling off her left breast.

“Sorry.” Draco lifted an eyebrow as a confident smirk spreading across his face, “I can think of a way to clean you off.”

Hermione giggled as Draco licked the side of her breast and then her nipple again. She put his wand on the table and pulled him to her.

“Now, Draco please.” She said, kissing his neck just below the ear.

He didn’t hesitate, after their last distraction, he re-positioned himself between her legs and thrust into her slowly.

“Oh gods, Hermione.” He muttered; eyes half-closed as he slid his length into her warm channel. “You’re so tight.”

Hermione groaned as he filled her, stretching her walls and filling a deep ache inside her she never wanted to give up. Slowly, after a moment to adjust to his size, she pushed against him, clawing at his hips when he began to thrust, sinking even deeper into her with each movement.

Hermione keened as his pace increased, pulling almost all the way out then thrusting deep into her again. She clung to him, rocking her hips to meet his as she panted into his neck, kissing and nipping him as he thrust hard. Hermione could feel the pressure building deep inside her again, and she scratched at his back, pulling him into her more. Draco kissed her neck and pulled back, flipping her leg up and over his shoulder, the angle change plunging him deeper into her and almost making her scream as the pleasure peaked.

“That’s it,” Draco growled, pounding her rapidly now seeking his own peak. “Come for me, Hermione.”

Her name on his lips pushed her into her orgasm, she screamed Draco’s name as he snapped his hips and came, crashing into the wave of pleasure with her. As he pumped, spilling into her, Hermione panted through the aftershocks coming to one damning conclusion.

Sex with Draco Malfoy was the best she’d ever had.

* * *

Hermione sat on her sofa, she’d taken three muggle pain killers so far and was still too sore to get up. It wasn’t the headache that stopped her either, that had been nullified after the second pill. No, she was still sore… down there.

That, she scowled to herself, was what happened when you went for marathon sex with a goddamn Malfoy. Hermione was literally considering getting a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer and sticking it between her legs. She had nearly waddled into her flat in the late hours of the morning, having only just snuck out of Malfoy Manor. It wasn’t just between her legs that ached, she was littered with bruises and overall exhausted from their antics.

After their mind-blowing sex in the cellar, she and Draco had decided the call for food was too strong and adventured to the kitchen. He’d taken her roughly against the bench, and she had the bruises on her hips to prove it.

Then, after almost getting caught by a house-elf they’d snuck through another secret passage only to remember they were in the Manor filled with Christmas Gala guests. They had been stuck in there for almost twenty minutes waiting for everyone to leave. Apparently emboldened by the additional fire whisky they’d brought with them, Draco had decided to pass the time by shagging her against a wall, one hand covering her mouth as she’d screamed his name with guests departing to the floo only a tapestry away.

After that round and sneaking past the guests they’d made it to Draco’s bedroom. Hermione had then shagged him, riding him on the carpet when they’d missed the bed. She now had some painful carpet burn on her left knee.

Afterwards, reeking of each other’s sweat and other fluids they’d decided a shower was a good idea. Another slow shag under the water and they’d fallen into Draco’s bed where he’d been determined he couldn’t let her leave without at least being polite enough to shag her in an actual bed. They’d snogged for a good long while before being able to attempt another round, but in the very wee hours of the morning, they’d enjoyed a lazy shag while the sun rose and then promptly passed out.

Still drunk the entire time, might she add. If they hadn’t been so drunk Hermione might have realised what a terrible idea six rounds with Draco had been, she’s woken up hungover and incredibly tender. If it wasn’t bad enough that Hermione probably hadn’t had sex in over a year, she’d then done it with Draco’s very sizable appendage and almost none of it had been particularly gentle.

When she’d remembered their night, after sitting up in the luxurious bed and staring at Draco’s naked arse in confusion for a few minutes, she quickly began to question what the hell had she been thinking. Draco had been snoring lightly as she started to panic and did the only logical thing left to do in such a situation. Hermione had found her now terribly wrinkled dress, one shoe, her bag and escaped through the floo.

Now she was lying on the sofa, questioning her life choices. And also wondering how she had been missing out on sex like  _ that _ her whole life.

Hermione sighed to herself and then decided to deal with her problems like an adult, or at least a witch. She went to the bathroom and administered herself a pain potion. Drinking it down with a grimace at the taste, then pulling the bruise paste out of the cupboard. She lathered it on her hips, her back and, after a little hesitation, on her neck. It took about five minutes to work, but soon she could walk without wincing, and the hickeys on her neck faded. She’d almost wanted to hang onto one of them as a reminder, but there would be too many questions if anyone saw them.

“Hermione!” Ginny’s voice called across the flat and Hermione groaned; she should have locked her floo. 

How was she meant to explain how she’d lost one of her shoes? It was somewhere in Malfoy Manor, quite possibly in a secret passageway that smelt of sex and fire whisky. She was pretty sure she had been wearing the shoes when Draco had bent her over the kitchen island.

“Here,” Hermione replied as she exited the bathroom, trying to shake the thoughts from her head in case Ginny had suddenly become proficient at legilimency.

Ginny had already seated herself on the sofa and stuck her hand in the air, a newspaper rolled up in it.

“Care to explain this, Miss Granger?” Ginny asked, somewhere between amused and scandalised.

Hermione rolled her eyes into the back of her head and cursed herself repeatedly.  _ Merlins balls _ , she’d completely forgotten their little revenge plan. In the light of day, it seemed like an incredibly stupid plan. After actually sleeping with Draco it sounded like a horrifically moronic idea.

“Explain what?” Hermione tried to say nonchalantly. Nothing had happened, and that was the story she was sticking to.

Ginny unrolled the paper and slapped it down on the table.

On the front page of the Daily Prophet were two pictures, one of her and Draco smiling and talking to each other and then another of them both facing away from the camera while Draco’s hand trailed seductively along the exposed skin on her back. It looked intimate. It was meant to look intimate, Hermione reminded herself. _ Damn _ , looking at the photo now she could almost feel his touch ghosting on her skin. Feel his lips exploring her body, feel his… Hermione shook her head.

“Really, Ginny?” Hermione lifted her nose and looked down it at the paper. “You don’t still read this rag, do you?”

Ginny, not swayed, pointed at the article headline that read ‘ **MALFOY AND GRANGER CAUGHT IN PASSIONATE EMBRACE AT CHRISTMAS GALA’** and then at the picture of Malfoy stroking her.

“Are you telling me this didn’t happen?” She said, eyes wide.

“What, me talking to Malfoy and him leading me to get drinks?” She sighed, hoping this would work. “Yes, it happened, we were talking about his donation to the War Orphans Fund.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“Just talking then?” She said.

Hermione shrugged; they could prove nothing with those pictures. A few weeks without any more gossip about them and people would forget it had ever happened.

“Well then explain this picture!” Ginny said, opening the paper to the double spread where a dark picture of a couple snogged in an empty corridor took centre stage.  _ Oh, Merlin _ , Hermione thought, recognising the pose. It was a celebratory snog in the passage after they’d gotten past the floo without being caught.  _ Idiots _ , they were complete idiots _. _ Drunk, horny idiots who had been so cocky they’d pressed up against the wall and snogged furiously. The image showed Hermione with one hand wrapped around Draco’s neck tilting up to him while in the other hand, one lone shoe dangled off her finger. Draco had both his hands on her waist, pushing Hermione backwards to the wall as his lips claimed and pressed against hers. It was passionate, incriminating and not something Hermione ever wanted anyone else to see. Now, it was splashed across the morning edition of the Daily Prophet, the paper most British witches and wizards read on their way to work.  _ Brilliant _ .

Hermione’s heart pounded as she looked at the picture. It was dark, and they were far from the photographer. All you could make out was a silhouette of a tall blond man and a bushy-haired woman. And her shoe. It could be anyone, Hermione thought, there were no actually identifiable features from that distance.

“How do you know that was us?” Hermione said, trying to put on a dismissive air. “It could be anyone in that picture, you can’t see anything.”

Ginny’s mouth hung open.

“Hermione.” She said slowly, ‘’You just said ‘us’, you just said there was an ‘us’.”

“No, I didn’t!” Hermione said, her voice tight and awkward. “It… it’s just a pronoun. Draco and I are two people therefore that would make us an ‘us’ but not an ‘ _ us’ _ us.”

The word had no meaning anymore as Hermione’s mouth tripped over it, desperately trying to steer away from the truth. Ginny jumped off her seat, pointing at her.

“Oh my god, there is an us. You said ‘how do you know that is us’ meaning there was a  _ that _ and an  _ us _ . You snogged Malfoy, you bloody snogged Malfoy!”

Hermione blanched, her face giving away even more than her words. She buried her face in her hands as Ginny put her hands on her hip.

“Hermione Granger, you look at me this instant.” She’d somehow managed to channel both Mrs Weasley and Professor McGonagall forcing Hermione to unbury herself from her hands, although she continued to look at her toes. “Did you or did you not snog Draco Malfoy last night?”

Hermione’s red cheeks gave the answer before she mumbled a stubborn.

“Yes.”

Ginny whistled. She sat down on the sofa again and stared at the wall before her mouth dropped, and she gasped.

“Did you sleep with him too?”

Hermione looked up at her, stricken and appalled at her complete inability to keep this a secret. She hadn’t even gone twelve hours before someone had figured it out. Not that it would be hard with the bloody Prophet splashing their picture across the front page. Hermione looked down, not meeting her friends’ eye and nodded.

“Oh, Merlin,” Ginny said. “Merlin’s aunt. Merlin’s aunt’s left tit. Wholly hell, Hermione. How?”

Hermione pulled her feet up and wrapped her arm around her knees.

“It wasn’t meant to go that far.” She whined her pitiful defence.

Ginny frowned at her and Hermione proceeded to tell her about Malfoy’s idea to ‘suggest’ their ‘date’ to the press in order to annoy Ron, who had departed early. Clearly, it hadn’t been a good idea even before they slept together and got caught snogging in the corridor, but at the time, Hermione had thought it sounded like fun.

Ginny was flabbergasted.

“Hermione Granger, we sent you there to make Ron jealous not to sleep with someone to do it.” She said, referring to the original plan with Ginny and Padma.

“I know!” Hermione threw up her arms, why couldn’t she be satisfied with knowing it had pissed off Lavender and be done with it. She’d just had to take things one step too far and now look at her.

They both flopped back into the chairs. There was an awkward minute of silence, the Prophet still open on the coffee table between them replaying the kiss over and over again.

“So,” Ginny said with a smug grin after a while, “was it any good?”

“Ginny!”

“What? Can’t I be curious? He’s the bloody Lothario of Britain, I bet it was good.” Ginny made a lewd movement, and Hermione put her face in her hands.

She pulled herself together and realised two things. One: that Ginny wouldn’t give up until she knew and two: Hermione really, really wanted to talk about it with someone.

“I just used half a bloody tub of bruise cream to get rid of the hickeys, and I’m pretty sure my vagina will never be the same.” She admitted pulling her head out from her hands and trying not to look like the cat that got the cream.

“Oh, Merlin.” Ginny’s eyes went wide “After one shag?”

Hermione cringed. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything after all.

“ _ Ah _ . No.” Hermione admitted, “Not exactly.”

“You slept with him  _ more _ than once.” Accused Ginny, eyebrows lifting and sitting forward in her seat, curious for the details now.

“Does it really count if it's all in one night?” She sort of hoped it didn’t. Admitting to one accidental shag with Draco was a bit different to admitting to many, many repeat sessions throughout the Manor.

“Yes.” Ginny snorted. “How many times?”

“Six.”

“Six?” Ginny screeched, and Hermione had to shush the woman before she could continue. “Who has the bloody stamina for six-”

“Yes, I know. He’s a bloody sex god, and I’m a terrible trollop but Ginny, it was  _ good _ .” She cut off her friend, the words pouring out of her. It felt incredible to say it aloud because, despite her better judgement, Hermione would be remembering those orgasms for the rest of her life.

“Better than- Ew, actually I don’t want to know that.” Ginny wrinkled her nose, one problem with having married her brother was that Hermione had never really been able to talk to Ginny about their sex life. It was just too weird whenever they tried to broach the subject, which meant that often Hermione just got the play-by-play of Harry and Ginny. Finally being able to share was liberating.

“Yes.” Hermione said, “Better than the-weasel-that-shall-not-be-named. Better than…”

Hermione blushed furiously. Better than anything was what she was going to say.

“Wow.” Ginny whistled, “So, are you going to see him again?”

“Oh, merlin, no.” Hermione wrinkled her nose and hugged a cushion to her chest. “He was an incredible shag, but seriously, Draco isn’t exactly the relationship type.”

Ginny sniggered into her hand.

“What?” Hermione groaned. 

“That’s the second time you’ve called him Draco. You must like him.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. She wasn’t going to explain the ‘it’s too weird to sleep with someone and still call them by their last name’ issue she had recently developed. She should probably get used to calling him Malfoy again anyway, anyone who knew her would be suspicious now that the Prophet’s article was going to be all the more damning.

“Ginny, I have no intention of seeing, shagging or dating Malfoy, ok?” She declared.

“Sure.” The sarcasm was evident even in the short word.

“Oh, by the way, I lost your shoe somewhere in Malfoy Manor,” Hermione said, sneaking it in there in hopes Ginny would be too distracted by the Malfoy shagging incident to care.

“You did what?” Ginny yelled.


	3. Chapter 3

The shoe, for which Hermione had been yelled at for twelve minutes straight, arrived at her doorstep a week later with a letter attached.

_ I was walking the halls yesterday, reminiscing my once ample supply of fire whisky and found this. I thought you might want it back. I remember you mentioning it belonging to a red-haired witch with a fondness for the bat-bogey hex. _

_ D.M _

_ P.S. If you ever want to lose another garment of clothing, just owl. _

_ P.P.S. Next time I’ll make sure there are no photographers in the vicinity. _

_ P.P.P.S. Blaise says ‘hi.’ _

Hermione had yet to return the shoe, too nervous to show the note to Ginny, knowing she would most definitely want to read it. 

Hermione had spent the last week purposefully avoiding any place she thought Draco might be, mostly to sway the rumours caused by the Prophet. The article had apparently been a hit with their readers. She had almost called in sick to work to avoid awkward questions but realised that would just make her look even more guilty than she was.

It turns out she need not have worried. Most of the people she worked with were away enjoying their Christmas holidays, and those left either didn’t read the Prophet or simply didn’t believe it. Hermione’s boss, Mary Figget, only cared about the incredibly generous donation they had received from Malfoy Industries on Christmas Eve.

Harry, who Ginny had not filled in on the situation, had thought the whole concept hysterical. He’d sent her clippings with his annotated notes, mostly pointing out the absurdity of the claims. He had however included one letter telling her that Ron was furious and was now sleeping on the sofa after saying something along the lines of ‘that Slytherin bastard better not lay a filthy ferret paw on  _ my _ Hermione’ in front of Lavender. Harry had also pointed out the hilarity of  _ that _ situation.

Despite the fact Ron and Hermione were not currently friends, and quite possibly never would be again, Harry was determined to remain friends with each of them. He’d been nervous to tell Hermione, even after agreeing that Ron was a rat bastard and hexing him in the middle of the street, but Hermione had understood. Harry had been friends with Ron for even longer than Hermione, and he was also his brother-in-law. They would have to see each other regularly regardless, and it was just easier to make peace.

Hermione didn’t mind, but she still avoided attending any event she knew Ron would be at. Or she had, until the Christmas Gala.

Hermione sighed. The list of men she was currently trying to avoid was growing. Hermione didn’t want to see Ron for obvious reasons, she was avoiding Draco mostly because she had no idea what she would say to him and she planned on avoiding Blaise because she had no idea what he might say to her.

A little part of her had been annoyed that Blaise seemingly knew about their tryst but seeing as Hermione had blabbed to Ginny only hours after it had happened, she didn’t really have a leg to stand on.

Hermione threw the note she had received from Draco back on her table and huffed into the bathroom. She was preparing herself for yet another event. She hated the holiday season, too many parties and stuffy ballrooms with evenings spent parading herself around as a war hero while convincing rich men who had done nothing when Voldemort rose to power to part with their money.

Hermione had tried to get out of the W.O.F.’s New Years celebration but seeing as she’d had a hand in organising it her boss, Mary, had baulked at the idea. Except that Hermione actually didn’t feel great. She’d been exhausted for the last few days, and now she was pretty sure she was getting cramps. Hermione had even flipped open her diary to find the little red marks plotting her monthly, to double-check if she was due soon. She still had another seven days, and she’d been pretty regular since the war ended and she wasn’t stressed about dying every other day.

Regardless, Hermione was going. W.O.F.’s New Year’s party had become quite the social event over the last two years, and many affluent people would be in attendance. She was to look pretty, talk up all the good the organisation had done and get more donations. The second part was the only instruction she was confident she could get right. She did love her job; she just didn’t like this aspect. Thankfully for the rest of the year, Hermione was generally left alone. Except in May, but she didn’t mind attending the memorials. She would have done that anyway. It was just the various social events of the year she didn’t appreciate, and with Christmas and New Years so close it seemed all the worst to have to do her hair and squeeze into a dress twice barely a week apart.

Hermione hadn’t asked Ginny to do her hair this time, she didn’t want to discuss the note she’d received or the guestlist for the evening. Hermione, having been given the job of sending and receiving invites, knew exactly who was attending. She’d been annoyed, and then annoyed at being annoyed, when she’d received the rsvp from Malfoy Industries informing her that Draco would be attending and that he would be bringing a plus one.

Not that she should be annoyed. She had no right to be annoyed. She… was really, really annoyed.

Hermione pulled her hair back from her face and charmed another bobby pin into her hair. It was a more straightforward hairstyle than what Ginny could do, but Hermione didn’t want Ginny to see just how much sleeping with Draco had phased her. It was Draco bloody Malfoy of all people. The sex may have been incredible, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d tormented her at Hogwarts and fought on the wrong side for most of the war. Pining after him was a step too far in Hermione’s book. She needed some peace and quiet before the evening to calm herself and rein in the jealous little beast that had sunk its claws into her recently.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that Draco and his apparent date would be in attendance, but Ginny and Harry would be there too. Ronald, thankfully, had declined. Hermione’s boss hadn’t been pleased about it as she was hoping for the trifecta of war heroes, but she had settled with two-thirds of the Golden Trio and a promise that Ginny would invite several Quidditch players.

Her hair now pinned in place with a dozen spells, most of a tub of Sleekeazy, and all the bobby pins she owned, Hermione took the dress off the back of the door and changed. She’d gone for a much conservative dress this time. Partially because the green dress had caused far too much trouble and because this was technically a work event. Still, it was a formal event and gowns were required. Hermione reminded herself to thank Padma when she saw her later that night.

She slipped into the soft pink dress. She felt far less exposed in the A-line design and swished the tulle skirts, amused as they swirled around her. The sheer sleeves were decorated with delicate black patterns and matched the fine embroidery on the waist.

She was ready. She was also late. Hermione groaned, wishing she could put this off.

* * *

Hermione smiled, a tight thin-lipped look as the old wizard who had just managed to compliment her work ethic and her ‘bosoms’ in the same sentence departed for the punch bowl. She reminded herself never to shop at the bookshop in Hogsmeade again, she refused to give any more of her money to the sleazy misogynist. Only a ten-minute conversation with the man and Hermione’s ‘womanly wiles’ were about to manifest by way of her pulling off a shoe and smacking him with it.

An arm slipped into hers, and Hermione sighed in relief as Ginny smirked at her.

“Want me to hex him with some bat-bogies?” She asked, and Hermione laughed.

“No. Save your energy.” She said, pulling Ginny closer. “When did you get here?”

“Just now,” Ginny replied, she pulled back and swished her dress. “How do I look?”

A deep blue gown hugged Ginny’s waist, and hips then billowed into a full skirt just past her knees. Hermione never felt comfortable in the mermaid style dresses but Ginny looked stunning. She told her so, and Ginny stoked the skirt of Hermione’s attire with a wink.

“And you.” She said, “Hoping to attract a certain blond Slytherin with that dress, are you?”

Ginny raised an eyebrow and wiggled them suggestively. Hermione smacked Ginny’s hand away from her skirt and looked around nervously, despite the fact all the people near them were clearly engaged in their own conversations.

“Shh.” Hermione scowled at Ginny. “No, I am not.”

Hermione took two drinks from the nearby floating tray and stuffed one into Ginny’s hand. She sipped her own, purposefully having taken the light pink drink she knew was non-alcoholic to avoid a repeat of the last function she had attended and looked around the room. Hermione had repetitively scanned the area ever since she’d arrived. It was unclear if she was looking for Draco or making sure he wasn’t there.

“Besides,” Hermione muttered, the bitter edge creeping in accidentally, “he’s here with a date.”

“Yes.” An amused voice said from behind her. “And I hear they’re terribly stunning.”

Hermione almost leapt out of her skin. She turned to find Blaise smirking mirthlessly at her.

“A one of a kind, Italian black-haired beauty.” He continued as he reached their little circle. He was clearly enjoying himself. “I’ve even heard they are the most incredible lover and that they’re-”

“They’re you.” Hermione groaned, catching his game and remembering the guest list did not include the wizard.

“You’re not jealous, are you, Hermione?” Blaise rocked up on the balls of his feet and then back while he lifted an eyebrow mockingly. “I promise it’s strictly professional.”

Ginny, still beside Hermione, gave a snort and Hermione flashed the pair of them a glare.

“No, I am not.” Hermione’s voice was a little too shrill to be entirely believable. “Now if you two will excuse me, I have work to do this evening.”

She stormed off, leaving the strange pair to their gossiping. Hermione realised too late that it probably wasn’t a good idea, but regardless, she hadn’t been lying, there were people she needed to greet and speak to. She’d even prepared herself a list of potential donation candidates for an upcoming project on the protection and population establishment of Bowtruckles in Hogwart’s forbidden forest. 

Hermione spoke to everyone on her list and a ridiculous amount more as the night wore on. She managed to talk to Harry for a few moments, but as he didn’t often go to social events, every witch and wizard in attendance seemed to want a piece of him. Hermione would have pitied his wife, but the few times Hermione saw Ginny, she and Blaise were amusing themselves either by taking advantage of the buffet table or competing to see who could change the most decorations into bizarre bright colours. Madeline would have a fit and Hermione lifted an eyebrow to them, trying to warn them as she saw the short blonde witch from W.O.F. bearing down on their hijinks. Sometimes Hermione forgot Ginny took after the twins far more than any other Weasley.

Hermione had seen Draco only once since Blaise arrived. He’d been talking to the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and Hermione had been dragged into the conversation by the young Dennis Creevey as she’d attempted to sneak behind Draco, desperately hoping he wouldn’t see her. Poor luck won out, however, when she found herself standing next to him, nodding to Creevey and unable to think of an excuse to leave. His hand had brushed against her arm as they stood shoulder to shoulder, the delicate touch grazing her skin and setting her heart racing. She was terrified the whole group would hear it as it pounded against her chest and in her ears.

She’d dared look up at him only once, just as he’d looked down and it was like getting trapped in thick honey. Every part of her screamed to look away and pay attention to whatever the Department head was talking about, but the movement was painfully slow, and Hermione was sure her cheeks burned before she managed to escape his grey eyes. They were bright and amused, staring at her as Draco sipped on his Champagne. Something in them danced with a carnal recognition, a flash of I-know-what-you-look-like-under-that-dress that could cause her to blush without a word exchanged.

The moment had caused a small lull in the conversation, Hermione had utterly forgotten to reply to whatever question she’d been asked. When she heard Padma call her name, she’d quickly excused herself and fled to the other side of the room.

Unfortunately, Hermione had only managed to thank Padma for the dress and promise her they would have another dinner soon before being dragged away by Mary and pushed towards a group of Wizengamot members. She’d had even less success with them, most too drunk by now to care about anything she could mention in regards to new legislation. Typical.

It was getting late into the evening and drinks flowed freely, seeing as they had generously been supplied by a local company. Most conversations turned to New Year’s predictions. Hermione didn’t particularly care what the coming year brought; it would be a near sight better than the past year no matter what happened. She’d just managed to escape a conversation with two women who were desperately trying to predict who would be getting married and who would be having babies soon. Ron, of course, was on the first list, while Harry and Ginny managed to get a hopeful inclusion to the second. Hermione had slunk away before her future could be contemplated.

Mary, who was far too sloshed for a work event, corralled everyone a few minutes before midnight to the outdoor area in preparation for the fireworks and Hemione wondered if she could make a break for it. She was exhausted. She just wanted to go home and get away from the vast assortment of witches and wizards, their constant conversation and the overpowering perfume that seemed to be a trend tonight.

She was halfway to the cloakroom before she got caught.

“Why is it, Hermione,” a soft voice said in the dark corner of the corridor, “you never stay for the speeches?”

Hermione paused, caught between ignoring him and running away. Slowly she turned, Draco’s face was partially covered in shadow as he leant against the wall. He wore dark dress robes again and watched her closely.

“I could ask you the same thing, Malfoy.”

Draco’s smirk dropped, and he pushed himself off the wall.

“Malfoy, is it?” He said with an annoyed eyebrow raise. “Here I was thinking we weren’t allowed to use last names after we-”

“Shh.” Hermione interrupted him and looked around. There was no one there, the rest of the party had gone the other direction to await the count down. Still, Hermione worried. She grabbed Draco by the hand and dragged him further down the corridor to a window alcove of the old building.

Draco allowed her to tug him along, looking bemused as she hissed,

“What are you doing? Do you want people to hear you?”

“I’m pretty sure everyone is busy thinking about their own midnight snog outside.” He said, his eyes drifting to her lips and Hermione swallowed.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She wanted to snap at Draco, tell him he was being a presumptuous pig but damn it, her brain wasn’t communicating with her mouth. Instead, she bit her lip as she eyed his smirk.  _ Merlin, he just had to mention snogging, didn’t he? _

“Hermione...” He purred, a wickedly seductive tone she knew would get him anything he wanted as he took a step closer to her.

She could have backed away, slipped back down the corridor and left him there. She didn’t. She didn’t move as his body got closer to hers. Until one hand tugged at Hermione’s waist and the other tipped her head up to his. She slid a hand up his arm, knowing this was an incredibly bad idea. Just as it had been last time. She should have learned her lesson, but instead every fibre of her being begged him to touch her more.

_ Has he always been this alluring _ , Hemione wondered to herself, surely she would have noticed how well he’d matured before this if he had. It must be the alcohol, that was why she was feeling this inescapable yearn again. Except she hadn’t drunk any alcohol this evening.  _ Shit. _ She’d purposely kept away from it so she wouldn’t end up craving Draco’s touch in a dark corridor just like last time.

“Happy new year.” He whispered as his eyes met hers, and she crashed her lips against his, unable to wait any longer.

Draco wrapped both hands around her waist, pulling her snug against his chest as he opened her mouth to him, his tongue pushing into hers. She moaned into him as her hands curled up around his neck, she had to balance on the tips of her short heels to reach him. Feeling her struggle, he bent and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist without hesitation, knowing exactly how to hold onto his body like it was second nature. Draco pushed her against the wall, one hand cupping her arse as he pushed himself against her.

Hermione broke the kiss with a gasp as she felt him nudge her through the fabric of the dress. Draco took the opportunity to kiss down her neck, sucking a new bruise onto her skin. Marking her as she hummed in pleasure, her head tilted back and hands tangling in his hair.

Draco’s hand went to her exposed calf and slid up, managing to find its way under her dress and higher to her thighs. Hermione’s eyes rolled, her body was reacting to his touch desperately, she could feel the damp patch on her knickers already as if anticipating and remembering the way he’d felt. She knew what he could do to her body.

Draco’s hand reached the damp fabric between her legs, and he groaned into her neck. Hermione felt him smirk against her skin and was sure she was about to get some comment about her actually wearing knickers when loud banging interrupted them.

Both Hermione and Draco jerked their heads back. The fizzing pops and explosions of fireworks filled the air along with a cheering crowd. Hermione could see out of the corner of the window, the colourful explosions filling the night's sky as they raced and spun merrily. Unfortunately, they also sent Hermione crashing back down to earth.

She was at a work function. She was in a venue filled with her colleagues, her boss and her best friends, not to mention the photographers. Hermione sighed _. What are you doing? _ She asked herself.  _ You’re meant to be a rational woman. Now one man touches you, and you lose complete control? _ Hermione realised what they were about to do was a mistake. They’d discovered that their bodies worked well together, but Hermione wasn’t the kind of person that wanted random one nights stands or even regular sex without a relationship and a relationship with Draco Malfoy was out of the question. They may have had undeniable chemistry, but Hermione knew they wouldn’t work together as anything more. They were too different as people and too connected by their past.

She was still tangled in Draco’s arms. She unwrapped her legs from his waist and let her feet drop back down to the floor. Her movement caused Draco to shift his attention from the window back to her. Hermione removed her hands from his hair, it was now very distinctly messed. A small part of her relished the sight of him. Draco’s hair was now messy, his lips swollen from her attention and his eyes still darkened with lust. Hermione pushed the thought away, willing herself to be strong. She looked down and sighed as she straightened her dress. Draco must have understood her change and stepped back, giving her some space.

“I, uh-” Hermione stopped not sure how to explain.

When she looked up, Draco looked a little hurt but not surprised.

“I should go.” She mumbled finally, “People will be coming through here soon.”

Draco looked disappointed but gave a small, curt nod. He dipped his head, and when she didn’t pull away, he pecked her gently on the lips, saying sweetly. “Goodnight, Hermione”

The kiss was soft and gentle. Hermione’s lips begged to chase after them, recapturing and forcing them into something harder, but she resisted. She gave him a sad sort of smile and slipped by him, walking down the corridor to the entry hall where the floo was. As she walked away, Draco called after her,

“Hey, Granger.” He said, flashing her a dangerous smirk. “If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Hermione pulled on her last scrap of confidence and called back.

“In your dreams, Malfoy.”

Hermione paused in the doorway, looking at him, perfectly ruffled and ridiculously handsome.

“Oh, definitely.” He said, grinning at her. “Every night.”

* * *

They didn’t make the front page this time. There was no article about them, and they had apparently managed not to get caught in their midnight snog. Probably because the photographers were too busy outside taking pictures of the other couples indulging in their new years kiss. There were undoubtedly some unusual pairs, most of which Hermione suspected were jokes.

There was a picture of Ginny and Harry, of course, looking completely enamoured with each other. Blaise it seemed, had had a little too much wine and kissed the Minister of Magic on the nose while fireworks exploded in the sky behind them. While amusing, there was very little scandal to be found.

Hermione and Draco hadn’t escaped wholly unscathed, however. There was, tucked on the fifth page of the Prophet where they’d detailed the social event and the rich and famous who had attended, a photo taken of their prolonged eye contact from earlier in the evening. It could have been explained innocently enough, but there was a short descriptor under the picture that made Hermione scowl.

_ ‘W.O.F. employee, Hermione Granger, and head of Malfoy Industries, Draco Malfoy, while attending separately, appeared enamoured with the sight of one another. Seen recently at the Malfoy Christmas Gala together are these two in the thralls of young love or perhaps regretting a Christmas fling?’ _

For a paper that so often got it incredibly wrong, they certainly seemed to be hitting the nail on the head this time.

Thankfully, without any more photos for proof, no one had tried to approach Hermione about the subject. She’d survived the rest of the week and was soon too buried in work to give Draco and his offer much further thought.

Hermione flopped onto her sofa and sighed. She was ridiculously tired and beginning to think she was coming down with a stomach bug, that or she was in for one hell of a nasty monthly. Padma had invited her out for drinks, something they regularly did on a Wednesday but Hermione had declined. She had cramps, a sore stomach and almost vomited when one of the young interns had heated up his lunch. Though why anyone would heat up fish in an enclosed space, she didn’t know, it stank to high heavens.

Instead of spending time in the crowded Leaky Cauldron, Hermione curled up on her sofa, found a cheesy muggle movie and ended up crying when the dog died. So much for a light-hearted comedy, she’d gone through the last of her tissues. However the next day, a Thursday, the small smear of blood in her pants had Hermione snorting at herself. She’d been cursing at the directors of the movie all night, but she may have just been a little emotional due to hormones.

She’d finished out the week, securing the funding needed for two different projects and was feeling pretty satisfied with herself.

Saturday morning, however, had her shooting out of bed with a sudden terrifying realisation.

“Oh, gods.” She’d whispered sitting on the toilet with absolutely no evidence of her period.

She’d been due on Tuesday; she hadn’t worried however when it was a few days late because who actually has a 28-day cycle. There had definitely been some spotting on Thursday, which had tricked her into a relaxed state and she didn’t notice on Friday that she hadn’t used any kind of sanitary product after her shower. She hadn’t needed to either, the bleeding stopped. She didn’t have her period. It was now Saturday, not entirely outside the realm of possibility but most certainly late for her period.

Hermione pulled up her pyjama bottoms, washed her hands and then chewed on her nails.

_ Shit. _

She usually had a few days' variation but not like this, not five days.

_ Shit. Shit. _

Most months she wouldn’t have to worry. She wasn’t usually sexually active, but this month had been different.

_ Shit. Shit. Shit. _

They’d used protection, they’d almost forgotten, but Hermione had cast the contraceptive charm before anything had happened. Hermione still chewed on her nails.  _ You didn’t use your own wand, _ a part of her brain whispered,  _ and you were drunk _ .

Hermione paced around the sitting room and muttered to herself for a while. It was like she was trying to will her period into existence. After a while she realised it was stupid, and she just needed to give herself some more time and not stress.

Five days didn’t mean anything.

Hermione threw herself into cleaning then, she scrubbed every inch of the little flat until it sparkled. She cleaned the muggle way until her back ached and her eyes were beginning to close on their own. She dropped into bed at eleven and fell asleep.

She only managed to sleep for a few hours. Hermione woke in a deep sweat at three in the morning after she dreamt that she’d been walking in Diagon alley when suddenly a tidal wave forced her off a cliff and into the murky ocean below. Hermione shuddered, it had been both horrifying and ridiculous. She lay awake for hours, alternating between staring at the clock and running to the bathroom every time she convinced herself she felt any kind of dampness between her legs.

She hoped every time it would be blood, but it never appeared. Hermione looked at the calendar before going back to bed. She’d had sex with Draco precisely 21 days ago. She’d only be three weeks along if she really was pregnant. Could you even test that early? She was pretty sure it was too soon to tell definitively for muggle tests, and she didn’t even know what wizarding tests looked like.

Hermione may have prided herself on her in-depth knowledge on a lot of things, but babies weren’t included on that list. It wasn’t like Hogwarts kept books on sex, pregnancy and babies on the shelves for children to read. In fact, when it came to sex education, Hogwarts was severely lacking. Hermione presumed they expected parents to take over that education. And Hermione’s parent had the sex talk with her, they’d even bought her a large pink book about all the ‘changes her body would go through’. It focused more on puberty than on what to do if she was concerned she’d accidentally gotten knocked up.

Hermione groaned. Her vast accounts of knowledge and she was utterly lost. She knew how it all worked, of course, she had even learnt contraception spells from…

_ Of course _ ! Hermione sat bolt right up in her bed. Ginny. Ginny was a bloody encyclopedia on sex and pregnancy. Not because she wanted to be but because she was a Prewett and likely to get pregnant just from looking at a man.

Hermione glanced at the clock. It was only six in the morning, possibly a little early to go barging over to the Potter’s house and begging Ginny to tell her what to do. She’d wait until eight. Then she would barge.

By 7:55, Hermione had showered, dressed, cleaned her kettle, brushed her teeth four times and rearranged her bookshelves.

She couldn’t wait any longer. She threw some floo powder into her fireplace yelled

“Potter cottage.” And stormed into a quaint little sitting room.

Hermione scared the living daylights out of Harry when she stormed into their kitchen. He’d been standing in his boxers and filling the teapot with the kettle. When Hermione skittered in on the tiles and yelled, “Where is your wife?” far too loudly for any rational person at eight in the morning on a Sunday, Harry spilt boiling water across the counter and onto the floor.

Harry lifted his feet and cursed, trying not to burn his toes and yelled back.

“In bed! What the hell is going on?”

Hermione ran back out of the room, calling over her shoulder as she took the stairs two at a time.

“I need to borrow her. Don’t come up here!”

Hermione burst into the Potter’s bedroom and climbed directly into the bed with the redhead.

“Ginny, wake up!” Hermione said, shaking her friend not too politely by the shoulders.

Ginny’s eyes opened groggily,

“’Mione?” she asked, confused as her head lolled around from the shaking.

It wasn’t the first time she had woken up with Hermione in their bed. The last time was when she had discovered Ron had left. She’d crawled in-between Harry and Ginny and wept while they comforted her. Seeing her now, frantic as she shook her, Ginny’s heart started to race, and she grabbed onto Hermione’s own shoulders.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” She said, eyes wide but slightly relieved when Hermione stopped shaking her.

“My period is late.” Hermione wailed.

Ginny frowned, then her eyebrows raised.

“ _ Oh _ .” She said.

Hermione’s lip quivered, and Ginny lifted the blanket. Hermione tucked herself under it and faced Ginny.

“Ok,” Ginny said, taking charge with a decisive nod while Hermione pulled the blanket up around her neck. “How late?”

“Five days… No, more like six now.” Hermione groaned.

Ginny considered it. Again, it wasn’t insignificant, but it wasn’t like Hermione was weeks late. It could be nothing.

“Were you... safe?” Hermione’s eyes flickered, and Ginny gasped. “Hermione Granger, you are the smartest witch I know, and you didn’t use any protection?”

“No, we did.” Hermione groaned, “I used the contraceptive charm, but I was drunk, and I wasn’t using my own wand and…”

“The charm is only 98% effective.” Ginny nodded, patting Hermione’s shoulder.

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand and choked back a terrified sob.

“Ginny, what do I do?” She pleaded with her friend, desperate for some guidance.

Ginny sat up in the bed, looking down sternly.

“Well, the first thing we do is take a pregnancy test.”

Hermione frowned,

“But it was only three weeks ago, can you tell yet? Most muggle tests aren't effective until…”

“Five weeks.” Ginny said, “Wizarding tests are the same. When was your last menstruation?”

Ginny had gone into clinical mode now so when Hermione wrinkled her nose and asked “Why?” she patted her shoulder and explained.

“You calculate weeks pregnant from the date of your last menstruation, not from the shagging.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose again, this time at the complete lack of technical terms. Still, she contemplated.

“Tenth of December.” She said finally, counting it off on her hand.

“Ok,” Ginny said, counting on her fingers for some quick maths. “So, you’d potentially be in week 5 now.” Ginny grinned “We can test!”

Hermione’s eyes widened. Then a knock on the door interrupted them. Hermione stuffed herself under the blanket, she couldn’t face Harry right now. She definitely couldn’t face Harry if he had just overheard what they were talking about.

“Is everything alright in there?” His muffled voice said through the door.

“Harry,” Ginny yelled, “You know I love you but bugger off!”

“Ginny!”

“Sorry.”

She heard grumbling from the hall,

“I need some clothes. We’re meant to be meeting George for a Quidditch game, Gin.”

Ginny sighed,

“Bollocks.”

She pulled herself out of bed, grabbed a pile of clothes from the chair and opened the door. Harry tried to lean around Ginny and spot Hermione, but she was still buried under the blanket, knowing that if she met his eye, she would confess everything. Ginny pushed the clothes into Harry’s arms as she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m not coming.” She told him, “and if you see Ronald, tell him I said he’s a git.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Ginny’s voice lowered.

“Harry, please.”

Sensing Ginny’s determination and the concern in her voice, Harry nodded.

“Alright.” He said, giving the Hermione sized lump a sad look, “Call me if you need anything.”

Ginny nodded and closed the door in Harry’s face. He grumbled some more before they heard the bathroom door close, and the shower started.

“Alright,” Ginny said, returning to the side of the bed and poking Hermione.

“ _ Ouff, _ ” she grumbled. “Don’t!”

“Get up.” Ginny demanded, “We’re going to Diagon Alley to get some pregnancy tests.”

Hermione’s head darted out of the blanket.

“Oh, Ginny, please no.” She groaned, “if anyone sees me, I’m doomed. Can’t we just get some muggle ones?”

Ginny thought about it.

“We’ll apparate to the Leaky then you go into muggle London and get the muggle tests. I’ll go to Diagon Alley. I’m half Prewett so no one would even bat an eye if I bought them. Some of my cousins take one every month just to be sure.”

Hermione frowned at her.

“No, seriously,” Ginny said, “It’s a bloody curse. How else do you think Mum ended up with so many kids?”

“Faulty contraceptive charms?” Hermione said with a shrug.

Ginny lifted an eyebrow.

“You’d know all about that now wouldn’t you.”

Hermione groaned and flopped back into the bed.

“I can’t do it, Ginny!” She said into the blanket, “What if I  _ am _ pregnant?”

Ginny grabbed Hermione’s arms and tried to haul the dead weight out of bed.

“Let’s deal with that once we know for sure.” She grunted the words as she pulled Hermione.

It took almost another ten minutes of Ginny pulling and bribing Hermione out of bed. She also threatened and prodded. Eventually, however, they apparated to Diagon Alley. Hermione slipped through the empty pub and out into muggle London while Ginny went to the apothecary. Twenty minutes later, Hermione stole back through the Leaky Cauldron, looking incredibly guilty, and Ginny rolled her eyes at her as she approached.

“You look like you’ve just stolen those pregnancy tests, Hermione.”

Hermione shushed her and muttered,

“I didn’t know which brand to get, so I got all four.”

Ginny snorted but replied,

“I got three too. There are no brands, but I thought we’d better be safe than sorry.”

Hermione drank three large glasses of water while Ginny watched her curiously then they apparated back to Ginny’s house. Harry had left when they arrived, and Ginny dumped all the tests they’d bought on the counter.

“So,” she said, looking at them curiously, “Which ones do you want to do first?”

Hermione sighed,

“I need to go anyway,” she said anxiously, “let's do the muggle ones first.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“Go?”

“To the loo?”

“What does that have to do with a pregnancy test?”

Hermione paused, then snorted.

“It’s how muggle tests work. What do wizarding ones test?”

Ginny pulled a face.

“You just need a drop of blood. Ew, it really tests your wee?”

Hermione nodded, grimacing at the inconvenience a little. Ginny shrugged and handed the boxes to Hermione.

“Have fun.” She said.

Hermione rolled her eyes and walked nervously into the bathroom. She was really doing this. Peeing on a bloody stick to determine her whole future.  _ Great _ . Hermione ripped the boxes open and pulled out the four tests. She lay them on the counter and stood in front of the toilet. 

_ Just do it, Hermione. Just get it done. _

Hermione breathed out and pulled down her jeans.

When she emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, Ginny was sitting at the dining table, a rack with three little vials in it.

“What do they say?” Ginny asked, clearly impatient and a little excited.

Hermione couldn’t blame her, if it wasn’t happening to her and downright terrifying, she’d be a little excited too. Hermione shrugged,

“Not sure, they take two minutes to work.” Hermione put three tests down on a little piece of paper towel. She put the box she carried with the remaining one on the table as well. “I only managed three, they’re not exactly the easiest things to do.”

Ginny snorted, then pulled her face into a controlled look.

“Let's do these while we wait.” She said, nodding to the vials. “They take five minutes to work.”

Hermione nodded and looked at the clear vials while Ginny pulled the stoppers out. She took Hermione’s hand when she offered it and used her wand to prick a hole on Hermione’s hand.

“Ow,” Hermione muttered as Ginny squeezed her finger over each vial, letting a drop of blood fall into each one.

Ginny re-stoppered each vial and shook them vigorously before placing them back in the rack.

“Now what?” Hermione mumbled, sucking her finger.

“We wait.” Ginny shrugged.

Hermione sighed and leant back in the chair. Ginny patted her knee affectionately as it bounced nervously.

Hermione looked at her watch. It had been one minute and forty-five seconds.

“Are they ready?” Ginny asked, looking at the little plastic sticks on the table.

“Almost,” Hermione said. “Gods, I can’t do it, Ginny. Look at them for me, please?”

“Ok,” Ginny said, picking up the sticks delicately and staring at them. “I have no idea what this means.”

“One line for negative, two lines for positive.”

“Ah,” Ginny said, frowning.

“Ah?” Hermione said.

“What if…” Ginny hesitated, “What if two say one thing and one says another?”

Hermione shot out of her chair.

“What?”

Ginny shrugged, holding all three tests. Hermione hesitated,

“What… what exactly does it say?”

Ginny looked at Hermione, contemplating whether her friend was ready, then laid out the tests on the table.

“Those two say positive, and that one says negative.”

Hermione stared at them.

“I..” she paused, “Are they defective?”

Ginny shrugged.

“Or you’re two thirds pregnant.”

That earned her a glare. Suddenly Hermione was shoving the remaining test at her,

“Here, you try this one.”

“What?” She asked, “Why?”

“So we know if they’re defective.”

“Hermione!” Ginny said, trying to explain the flaw in her logic as she was shoved towards the bathroom. “Fine!”

Apparently, Hermione had lost all logic in the face of her possible pregnancy. She paced around the sitting room, waiting for Ginny. It took her almost a full two minutes before she realised Ginny taking a different brands test would prove nothing.

“Idiot.” She muttered to herself, looking up at the ceiling.

Suddenly Ginny burst out of the bathroom, test in one hand and paper in the other.

“Hermione!” She yipped. “Look, this says it takes three minutes, not two!”

Hermione grabbed the paper out of her hand. She’d read three of the four pamphlets before realising they were almost the exact same. Unfortunately, she’s missed the only one that was different. Clearly, this experience was messing with her, Hermione Granger had never neglected her readings until now.

“Oh god, Ginny, check it again.”

Ginny was already in the kitchen, test in hand.

“What does it say?” Hermione asked.

Ginny didn’t answer. Hermione looked over her shoulder at the plastic sticks that predicted her future.

“Oh, god.” She muttered, “Oh  _ Jesus _ .”

Ginny wasn’t looking at the test. She smacked Hermione’s arm and pointed at the three vials in the rack.

“Hermione, look,” Ginny said in a whisper. “They’re turning purple.”

“Purple?” Hermione looked, and they were, all three vials were turning a bright shade of purple.

“Ginny.” Hermione gulped. “What does purple mean?”

Ginny was too busy staring at them, mouth agape. She’d seen the results of the muggle tests, but it hadn’t sunk in until the wizarding tests.

“Pregnant.” Said a strained voice behind Hermione, “Purple means pregnant.”

Hermione and Ginny turned, their shocked faces meeting the equally shocked face of Harry. He stood there, back door open and an old broom in hand.

“Who,” he said, his voice cracking and strained, “Who’s pregnant?”

His eyes darted between Hermione and Ginny. Neither woman moved, and Harry quietly closed the door behind him.

“Who’s pregnant?” He asked again, his face slowly turning white.

Ginny was the one to put him out of his misery.

“Hermione.” She said, with a gulp and Harry let out a sagging breath.

“Oh, god,” Hermione said, just now taking in the full meaning. She backed up and sank into one of the kitchen chairs. “I’m pregnant.”

Ginny nodded and looked sympathetic. Harry still looked shocked. Hermione sank her hands into her head.

She was pregnant. A baby was growing inside of her. Oh god, she hadn’t really considered it like that. Like a real potential human was inside her, growing. Hermione stared at the floor. What the hell was she meant to do? Was she ready for this?

It wasn’t like she could just go with the flow and decide later. She couldn’t just turn around when the kid was four and say ‘you know what, this isn’t for me actually’. There was so much to deal with, too much to deal with.

Hermione groaned. How had this happened? Actually, she knew exactly how this had happened: far too much fire whisky, a lot of poor decision making and Draco Malfoy.

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. Draco. She wasn’t just pregnant. She was pregnant with someone’s child. She was pregnant with Draco bloody Malfoy’s child.  _ Oh, gods. _

“Ginny.” Hermione looked up at her friend, who watched her with concern. “How am I going to tell Draco I’m pregnant?”

A clattering sound echoed around the room, and Hermione looked up to see Harry, his face slack while the broom rolled along the kitchen floor towards her foot.

“You slept with Malfoy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo!  
> I just wanted to say a massive thank you to everyone who has left a comment or kudos for the first two chapters; I'm honestly floored at the response this strange little plunny as gathered. Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter! I'll try and have chapter 4 up on Thursday night (in AEST time).  
> Until then eat a cookie, you deserve it.  
> Nif.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there,  
> How were your cookies? I hope they were good.  
> Ready for chapter 4? We've already scarred Harry, how about we get this ball rolling onto our poor Draco?  
> Again, and yes I will say this every time but seriously I mean it: if you left a comment/kudos/bookmark thank you so much! You have no idea how stupid I looked walking around the place on Wednesday with the biggest, dopiest grin on my face. You would have thought someone slipped something into my tea.  
> Anyway, enough of me. Onto your favourite bookworm.

“Do you have an appointment?” The old woman at the desk asked for the third time.

Hermione sighed; she didn’t have the bloody patience for this. Not today, not with what she was about to do.

“No.” She replied, also for the third time. “But I need to see Draco Malfoy.”

“But you don’t have an appointment with Mr Malfoy?”

“No.” Hermione grit her teeth.

“Mr Malfoy only sees people by appointment.” The drone in the woman’s voice grated on Hermione’s last nerve, and she wondered if a lower tolerance for pains in her arse was a symptom of pregnancy.

“He’ll see me,” Hermione growled.

At least, she hoped he would. He’d better, or she was just going to have to shove her way in there and make him listen to her. The old woman ignored her and stated,

“No meetings without an appointment.”

Hermione was about to pull her hair out. It was almost three in the afternoon. Hermione had owled Mary for the day off and gotten dressed at eight to come to speak with Draco. It had taken her until two to work up the nerve to leave her house, and she’d spent the last fifteen minutes arguing with the old bat at the desk.

“It’s serious.” Hermione said, “I need to speak to Draco Malfoy.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time, the woman looked a little concerned.

“Yes.” Hermione lied. 

With that, Hermione stormed past reception as the woman stared after her and marched through the floor of offices. She knew which one was Draco’s and she suddenly wondered why she hadn’t just done this in the first place.

It had taken her three minutes to get to Malfoy Industries, eight minutes to persuade the security downstairs to let her in, another five memorising the layout of the building and locating Draco’s office when said security guard conveniently went to the loo. Another one-minute elevator ride and then fifteen minutes were arguing with the demon that ran the front desk. The whole time Hermione had been getting angrier and angrier. At this rate, she was liable to storm into Draco’s office and scream at him for knocking her up.

Hermione passed the last row of desks when Draco, sitting on the large sofa in his office, looked up at her then back down at his papers. Then back up at the witch now storming into his office.

Hermione slammed the door closed behind her.

“Your receptionist is a god damn pain in my arse.” Hermione snapped as Draco dumped the papers he was reading onto the sofa beside him.

He looked bemused as he watched Hermione straighten her blouse and try to compose herself. As she breathed out a deep sigh, Draco said,

“Let me guess you told her you didn’t have an appointment.” Hermione huffed at him. “Agatha is good at her job, but she’s a bit of a stickler for the rules.”

“Yes, well. She may have just called security on me.”

Draco snorted but remained seated.

“Is there something I can help you with, Hermione?” He asked, his voice silky smooth and his eyes watching her closely.

Hermione felt his eyes travel the length of her body, and it made a shiver run up her spine. _No_ , she told herself _, you are most definitely not here for that_.

Hermione needed to tell him. She needed to just spit it out. She chewed her lip.

Draco watched Hermione curiously, he had not been expecting the witch to contact him at all after New Years and, despite his offer, he had most certainly not expected her to show up in his office. She fidgeted and then turned to the closed door, flicking the muggle locking mechanism. Draco’s eyes widened further when she flicked her wand, and the blinds in Draco’s office snapped closed.

Hermione took in a deep breath, trying to calm herself. _Oh god, oh god. Ok, just say it._ She psyched herself up and went to sit on the small armchair opposite Draco.

“I, uh-” She said and then shook her head.

 _No, that felt wrong._ Hermione stood up again and paced. She ran her hands nervously over the black pencil skirt she’d decided to wear this morning. She’d wanted to look professional, but as Draco’s eyes roamed downwards, following her hands and then back towards her buttocks, Hermione suddenly doubted her choice. She should have worn her frumpy jumper and joggers. That would have actually made her feel comfortable. She was too bloated and her breasts too tender. The bra she’d put on was the only one that worked with her current soft pink blouse, but from the way her nipples ached she wished she’d gone for something else. _The joy of pregnancy_ , she thought sarcastically, she was maybe six weeks pregnant and already miserable. If she even was pregnant. Six positive tests later, and she was still nervous.

“Hermione.” Draco interrupted her pacing and nervous in-brain rambling. His pupils had dilated, and he was watching her with a gaze Hermione now knew too well. “If you tell me you’re not wearing knickers under that skirt…”

He trailed off, but Hermione snatched the tissue box off the table between them and threw it at him.

“I didn’t come here to sleep with you, Draco!” She snapped.

That’s what got them into this mess. Draco chuckled as he caught the small box.

“That’s a shame.” He said, more to himself.

Hermione let out a breath and sat down again. _Just do it_ , she told herself. Draco watched her as she twisted her bracelet nervously and eventually sunk her head into her hands. Her elbows still resting on her knees. Hermione pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and groaned. Draco sat up, more alarmed at her demeanour now that he wasn’t thinking about getting under her skirt. Or he was still thinking about getting under her skirt but didn’t think now was precisely the time, not when she muttered to herself,

“Ok. Ok. You can do this. God.” And pulled herself upright. She took one final deep breath just as Draco opened his mouth to ask if she was feeling alright.

“I’m pregnant.” She said, staring at his face.

Draco didn’t react. At all. His face was completely impassive.

“Draco,” Hermione said, not sure if she’d broken the man. “Did you hear me?”

Draco didn’t move. He didn’t blink. Hermione actually got concerned after a moment.

“Draco,” she said louder. “I’m-”

He finally moved. Sinking his head into his hands almost in the exact manner Hermione had. He stayed like that for a moment then muttered.

“Ok. Ok. Oh, gods. Ok.” He pulled his head up and looked at Hermione, his eyes wide and round like a startled animal.

“Oh, gods.” He said again as he looked at her confused face.

Draco stood up. Then sat down again. He lifted one hand to his face and chewed his thumb nervously. Hermione waited, wanting to give him time to process. She’d had almost twenty-four hours of confirmation not to mention the two days of worry before that to come to grips with the idea. There had been anger, denial, a lot of crying and an entire box of biscuits offered by the traumatised Harry. She had already done a whole lot of processing, and she wasn’t sure if she was even at acceptance yet. She’d just thrown a bombshell on Draco on a Monday afternoon. She understood if it took him a few minutes.

Draco stood up again. He paced, then walked behind his sofa and leaned, both hands gripping the back of the sofa tightly as he hung his head and breathed.

Finally, he looked up, that terrified look still in his eyes.

“You’re pregnant.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, but Hermione nodded anyway. “And I’m-?”

He didn’t finish the question; his voice broke into a high pitch, strangled noise as he looked at her.

“Yes.” She said, “You.”

Draco took another deep breath.

“Oh, gods.” He said again. He stood up straight and ran a hand through his hair, ruining his perfect hairstyle and reminding her of the Draco she’d known intimately.

“That was sort of my reaction.” Hermione shrugged.

Draco looked back at her as if realising, finally, that this was Hermione, another human being, telling him this news. He took a nervous step towards her, then stopped.

“Are you…” He hesitated, and Hermione wondered if he thought he’d offend her. “Are you sure?”

Hermione wasn’t offended. She would ask the same thing in his position. Actually she had, making Ginny check the tests multiple times regardless of the fact she knew they were all positive.

“Sure I’m pregnant or sure you’re the father?” Hermione asked.

Malfoy’s eyes went wider, something she hadn’t thought possible and she wondered which of the versions he hadn’t contemplated yet.

“Both?” He admitted, wincing at his own answer.

“As for the second part,” she said, getting the easiest one out of the way first, “if I am pregnant then yes, you are the father. As for the first... I’ve taken six pregnancy tests; all have come back positive.”

Hermione paused, stammering over the rest of her speech.

“I’ve booked an appointment at St Mungo’s tomorrow. I, uh, that’s why I came to tell you today, in case you wanted to come.”

Draco’s eyes actually softened a bit. He walked around the sofa and sat down again.

“Yes.” He said, “Of course, I want to come.”

Hermione looked up at him, she’d half been expecting him to throw her out of his office and refuse to ever see her again.

“You do?” She asked. The surprise slipped into her voice, making Draco frown.

“Of course.” Then he considered her face, “Do you… do you not want me there?”

Hermione’s eye widened this time.

“No,” she said quickly, “I want you there, I…”

She trailed off, not knowing what to say. She didn’t want to offend Draco by telling him she’d thought he might hate her guts the second she told him. Draco, however, seemed to understand her hesitation.

They lulled into silence. To be honest, Hermione hadn’t prepared for this part of the conversation. She’d spent so much time psyching herself up to just tell him she hadn’t considered what the rest of the conversation might entail.

Draco flopped back, sinking into the sofa and stared at the ceiling for a few moments, then he snorted and flashed her a brief smirk.

“Six tests?” He asked, showing the most idiotic masculine side of him. “One for each time we…?”

“Don’t be so vulgar.” She groaned, looking at his face and wishing she had another tissue box to throw at him. “You’re bloody proud of yourself for that, aren’t you?”

Draco smirked again, relaxing a little into the cushions.

“Bloody right.” He muttered.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him, but she couldn’t bite back the laugh. She caught Draco’s eye, and he sniggered. It was ridiculous. They both snorted and laughed until Hermione wiped tears away from her eyes. Draco too slowly calmed, and when the last few breathy chuckles died off, giving way to breathy murmurs of concern. They both sat across from each other sinking back into the seriousness of the situation.

“Six tests?” Draco breathed, this time entirely without the amusement or pride.

“All positive,” Hermione confirmed.

Draco looked up, staring at the ceiling. Hermione didn’t mind the silence, it could be worse, he could be yelling. She let him think for a few minutes, not unlike what she’d done the day before at the Potter’s cottage. Thousands of scenarios had run through her head. Was this real? Was she ready to have a child? What would Draco say?

She’d eaten the entire box of biscuits and sobbed into the sofa cushions. Harry and Ginny had patiently let her work through her tears. Afterwards, Harry, of course, had had a lot of questions. Most of them focused less on the child she now carried but on ‘why did you sleep with Malfoy of all people?’, to which she didn’t really know. She couldn’t explain it to him, but thankfully, despite his utter shock, Harry hadn’t been mad at her.

The silence of the office was broken by Draco again a few moments later.

“How?” He asked, frowning to himself.

Hermione pulled herself up and sat straight again.

“I’ve got a few theories.” She said, and Draco looked at her expectantly. “One: the contraceptive charm didn’t work because I was really, really drunk when I cast it. Two: it didn’t work because I cast with a different wand than my own. Three: the spell was cast perfectly, and we were just the lucky idiots that it didn’t work for. They’re not 100% effective.”

Draco grunted.

“Four:” he added, “I spilt fire whisky on you just as you were casting the charm, messing up your concentration.”

Hermione sighed; she’d forgotten about that.

“Five: it’s a combination of some or all of the above.” She finished.

“And the likelihood we’ll ever find out?” He asked. The despondent note in his voice already knowing the answer.

Hermione held up her hand in a fist, “A big fat zero.”

“The likelihood those tests were wrong, and you’re not pregnant?”

“There’s a 1% chance of a false positive for muggle tests and about a 0.3% chance for wizarding tests.” She told him.

Draco snorted.

“Sounds like congratulations are in order to me.”

Hermione shrugged. She personally agreed, the likelihood of them finding out she was in fact not pregnant tomorrow was incredibly low.

“We’ll know for sure tomorrow.” She said softly.

Draco nodded. He opened his mouth then closed it again. He looked at her and then shook his head.

“Ask, Draco.” She murmured, “I won’t get offended, you can ask me anything you want.”

He still hesitated.

“Are you… Do you think you’ll keep it?”

Hermione looked down at her stomach. She knew abortion was rare in wizarding society, but she didn’t blame him for asking. She had considered it. For only a moment before a painful panic had torn at her heart and she knew she couldn’t do it. She’d wanted a child before, she’d thought she was ready, and it hadn’t happened. Maybe the circumstances around this baby’s entrance into the world wouldn’t be perfect, but Hermione put on hand protectively on her stomach.

“Yes.” She said firmly, “I’m keeping it.”

She looked at Draco, trying to decipher his emotions at that moment. She couldn’t, only that he watched the way she smoothed her hand over her stomach as she spoke.

“I don’t…” Now she was the one nervous about offending him. “I don’t expect you to be present if that’s not what you want.”

Draco’s eyes flashed up to her face, narrowing slightly and Hermione added quickly

“But I’d be happy if you did. If you do want to be there.”

“Yes,” Malfoy said just as firmly.

Hermione’s heart clenched a little at his answer. She had been terrified of the outcome, and although she was prepared to do this on her own, she wanted any child she had to know their father. She hated the idea of them growing up being in the same world as their father but never being able to acknowledge the relationship.

 _Oh gods_ , she thought. When had this all become so real to her? This wasn’t just about doctors and appointments and pee sticks anymore. They were talking about a baby. A very real human baby. Hermione breathed in deep.

Merlin, she’d be a mother.

“Have you ever considered being a father before?” Hermione asked as she processed her own emotions at the realisation that motherhood was in grasp.

As soon as she said it, she worried she’d done the wrong thing. Draco’s eyes widened again, and the blood drained out of his already pale face.

“Oh, god.” He said, standing up again sharply and pacing. “I didn’t think of that.”

Hermione frowned.

“You thought about the child, but you didn’t actually consider the fact you’d be a dad.”

Hermione could have smacked herself; she’d literally just had this realisation about herself. And it had hit her like a brick. She watched Draco nervously, feeling bad she’d pushed it on him so soon after he’d found out she was pregnant. She needed to slow down and let him process. His eyes darted to her and confirmed that no, he hadn’t actually considered that he would be raising a child. Draco sank onto the sofa again.

“I’d be a _father_.” He said, and something clicked in Hermione’s brain. She was talking to the man whose own father had raised him to be a Death Eater and was now in prison. “I’d be a _dad_.”

Draco groaned and put his head in his hands, his face turning a pale shade of green.

“Draco?” Hermione said, getting up and kneeling in front of him. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Draco shook his head.

“I think,” he said, pausing to gag. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Hermione looked around, and she quickly grabbed the small metal bin next to Draco’s desk and rushed back to him. She stuck it in between his legs just as Draco’s middle contracted and he vomited into the bin. She pushed his hair out of his face and rubbed his back as he continued to empty his stomach.

Hermione wrinkled her nose and muttered to herself,

“I thought I was meant to be the one to get morning sickness.”

Malfoy, mid-puke started what sounded like a coughing fit. One of his large hands found her thigh, clenching it tightly as he wheezed.

“Sorry.” She mumbled, “Too soon?”

Draco, still hugging the bin, coughed again. Although this time she thought she heard a hint of a laugh.

“Too soon, Hermione. Way too bloody soon.”

She rubbed sympathetic circles on his back. It was rather intimate, yet it didn’t feel strange. Which then made her feel strange, and she was about to pull her hand away when the door unlocked and Blaise burst in.

He looked at Hermione, his eyes widening, then shifted to Malfoy who remained clinging his barf bucket.

“Blimey, Granger,” Blaise said, looking at the pair. “What have you done to Draco?”

* * *

When Hermione floo’d back to her flat an hour later, she found Harry sitting on her sofa.

“Hey,” she said, dropping her belongings on the coffee table and smiling at him.

“Hey.” He replied, “I, uh, wanted to make sure you were ok.”

Sitting on the sofa, Hermione leaned and put her head on Harry’s shoulder.

“I’m alright.” She said.

“And everything went… ok?”

Hermione shrugged,

“I think so.”

Honestly, she wasn’t sure. How was telling the man you’d had a one-night stand with that you were pregnant meant to go? It wasn’t a conversation she’d ever planned on having with anyone, even less so with Draco Malfoy. The whole thing still felt pretty surreal.

“How did Malfoy take the news?” Harry asked, tensing a little under her, and Hermione realised her friend had been genuinely worried about her.

“He vomited.” She said.

“Eugh.” Harry said with a snort, “Seriously?”

Hermione lifted her head off his shoulder and nodded,

“Yes, but he actually took it pretty well, Harry.”

Harry frowned and looked like he didn’t really believe her. Hermione shoved his leg.

“I’m serious. He didn’t yell or shout or call me names. He was shocked and had a bit of panic when he realised he was going to be a father, but otherwise, he was ok.”

“Really?”

Hermione sighed and lied down, putting her head on the couch arm so she could still look at Harry.

“Yes. I’m surprised too.” Hermione twiddled her hands, awkwardly, “He said he wanted to be there, you know, for the baby.”

Harry raised his eyebrows,

“He didn’t ask you to marry him, did he?”

Hermione lifted her head and yelped,

“Harry! What?”

Harry shrugged,

“I don’t know, ‘Mione. Purebloods are weird like that. They can barely wrap their heads around sex before marriage, I don’t know how they’d feel about a baby out of wedlock.”

Hermione dropped her head back and looked at the roof.

“Blimey.” She said.

He was right, Purebloods and most wizards were pretty old school. Mrs Weasley had been ecstatic that both Ron and Ginny had gotten married young, and their family was considerably ‘modern’ when it came to dating and sex. Hermione wondered if Draco had considered it. There was no way in hell she would say yes of course, but she wondered. Malfoy was the head of his family with Lucius in Azkaban. Hermione didn’t know what Narcissa was doing now, but it had been years since she’d been seen in Britain. Hermione supposed these were things she should ask Draco if they were meant to be having a child together.

“What did he say, then?” Harry asked, patting her legs.

“The usual stuff to begin with, I suppose,” she said, counting them off on her fingers. “How, are you sure, am I the father, do you want to keep it, are you sure again.”

Hermione dropped her hands.

“Then, he vomited.”

Harry couldn’t stifle his laugh.

“Harry, stop!” Hermione laughed too, “Then Blaise burst in, and I had to explain to security that I hadn’t poisoned their boss.”

Harry roared as Hermione detailed to him how she had broken into Malfoy Industries, then how Malfoy had had to stop her from being dragged out by his security. Which had at least stopped him from vomiting any more.

“Then I explained to Blaise that you know… about the baby stuff and he, of course, thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. He started teasing Draco about it until I shoved him out of the room again.”

Harry wiped the tears leaking from his eyes.

“Seriously Harry, Draco was turning green. I thought he was going to start vomiting again.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever feel sorry for Malfoy but gods, Hermione, I thought you said it went well.”

“It did!” She said defensively.

“Security almost dragging you out of the building was ‘well’?” He teased her.

Hermione looked at him and said,

“At least it wasn’t because I was pregnant. I was worried Draco would throw me out the second I told him.”

Harry gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Did you manage to talk about anything after that?”

Hermione nodded,

“Yes, not a lot but I told him about the appointment at St Mungo’s tomorrow, and he said he wanted to come. He said he wanted to come to all the appointments.” Hermione chewed nervously on her fingernail again, “He seemed serious about being a part of all this. Not just for after the baby is born.”

Her voice rose in pitch, surprised and a little alarmed at the prospect.

“Are you ok with that?” Harry asked, voice dropping back down to a serious tone.

“I’m not going to keep his child from him, Harry,” Hermione said.

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry said, “are you going to be ok dealing with Malfoy regularly for what, the next twenty years. You’ll share a child- it’s one of those things that bind people together.”

Hermione sighed; it was a huge step. She’d thought it was a big step when she’d first snogged him. Sex with Malfoy was never something she’d even contemplated let alone having her life entwined with his.

“Yes.” She said, “I think so anyway. He’s… he is different now, not like when we were young, and well, I want this child to grow up with a father if possible. Draco is… he seems like a good man, so I’m willing to give him a chance.”

“You sound fond of him, Hermione,” Harry said.

She was, she discovered surprisingly. She liked talking to Draco, which was insane considering their past interactions. He wasn’t the arrogant boy she’d met in Hogwarts, and part of Hermione thought it was because Lucius wasn’t around to influence him anymore. They had been so incredibly young during the war; Hermione hated the fact that so many children had been impacted by it. Trying to navigate their adult life now was messy. Half the people they knew had family on Voldemort’s side or had someone who had died during the war. At least, Draco had tried to make amends. A lot of people who hadn’t publicly been Death Eaters but certainly profited from Voldemort’s reign had simply slunk back into the shadows again.

“I am,” Hermione said quietly. A terrible thought flashed through her mind, and before she could stop herself, she smirked at Harry. “Maybe my feelings are confused because we slept together, the man is an actual god in the sack.”

“Hermione!” Harry shouted, jumping up from the couch and blocking his ears. “NO! Don’t ever talk like that ever again!”

Hermione laughed, clutching her stomach and rolling on the sofa.

“You don’t think I have to hear about you?” She said, “Ginny is complete over-sharer.”

“ _Uh_.” Harry groaned, and ran away from her to the kitchen.

“Hey, Potter.” She called from the sofa, sitting up to watch him. “Did you know that you can use custard to-”

“No!” He yelled, pointing his finger at her, “No, no, no, no, no!”

Hermione went after him, regaling Harry with terrible things he never wanted to know until he snatched a biscuit off the bench and stuffed it in Hermione’s mouth.

* * *

Hermione paced anxiously in the corridor of St Mungo’s third floor. She was waiting at the central nurse’s station that separated the maternity ward on the left and the plants and potions poisoning ward to the right. Her own appointment wasn’t for another ten minutes, but she and Draco had agreed to meet there, and he was already five minutes late.

She bounced on the balls of her feet, and one of the nurses watched her carefully. She probably thought Hermione had ingested a Bouncing Bulb. The elevator dinged and Hermione let out a sigh as Draco, looking as well dressed as ever and a dark scowl on his face, stepped out.

His face relaxed as he saw her.

“Hi.” He said, dipping his head and kissing her on the cheek. “Sorry, I’m late. Blaise decided he had to come along. I left him with Mrs Potter downstairs.”

Hermione was startled by his affection and gently touched her cheek where he’d pressed his lips. She stopped and nervously avoided eye contact when one of the young nurses stared openly at them. An older nurse bumped her young companion, sternly hissing something in her ear. Hermione hoped her she was reminding her about hospital confidentiality protocols, the last thing they needed was the Prophet popping out of nowhere and asking questions about the baby she wasn’t 100% even existed yet.

“Ginny’s here?” Hermione suddenly asked, snapping back to what Draco was saying.

“Yes,” Draco frowned, “I take it she knows? Blaise certainly seemed pleased to see her.”

Hermione nodded; she hadn’t informed him about her role in the pregnancy tests yet.

“Oh,” she said, “Harry knows too.”

Draco sneered, looking a lot like he did years ago when anyone mentioned harry.

“Great.” He muttered.

“Hey,” she said, fixing him with a stern glare, “Harry is my best friend. You’d bloody well learn to deal with him.”

Malfoy glared back at her for a moment before huffing and mumbled,

“I can get along with Potter fine, I just don’t want him in my personal business.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Currently, your personal business is inside of me, and Harry is part of my life. Ergo, it’s his business if I feel the need to make it his business.”

Malfoy looked away, annoyed, but Hermione refused to back down. If they were really doing this, and it seemed like they were, she wasn’t going to let him be a prat to her friends. They were stuck in each others lives now, and there needed to be guidelines when it came to how they dealt with those boundaries.

Finally, Draco nodded.

“Fine.” He said, “I can live with that.”

Hermione smiled, look at that they weren’t a complete disaster.

“If it makes you feel better, I didn’t mean to tell him. He sort of walked in when Ginny was helped me with the pregnancy tests.” She said, “It didn’t seem like a good time to lie when he’s going to notice something like that pretty soon.”

Draco snorted.

“No, I guess not.” He conceded.

They lulled into silence then Hermione remembered why they were there. Her heart rate jumped nervously.

“Ahh,” she said, pointing down the hallway where the ‘Maternity and Paediatric Ward’ sign hung. “Are you ready?”

Draco gulped, looking as nervous as she felt. Hermione was pretty sure the older nurse at the desk noticed and flashed her a kindly smile.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Draco said.

They walked down the hall to the maternity waiting area and sat in the corner. Hermione couldn’t help it, she stared at the other women in the room. They were only four, all in various stages of pregnancy and two with little children sitting next to them or on the floor as they played with wooden blocks. She was staring. She should stop staring. Hermione swallowed hard. If she really was pregnant, which honestly was the likely outcome of their appointment, she would eventually look like these women. Their round stomachs hanging heavily as the women smiled and talked to their children. Hermione’s stomach too would grow round and distend in the same manner, making room for her unborn child. Would she rest her hand protectively on it as they did?

“Alright, Hermione?” Draco nudged her arm, “You’re staring.”

Hermione shook herself and looked at Draco.

“Sorry, I, uh.” She stuttered, “It’s just…”

“Yeah.” He said, looking at her stunned face and understanding exactly what she was feeling in the moment.

“Merlin.” She breathed and leant in the seat.

This was really real. They were at a hospital. Waiting for a healer. A healer who would tell them if their whole world was about to change. This was a huge moment, and it all came crashing down on her. She’d been more concerned about whether Draco would show up.

“What are we going to do?” She said, her eyes bugging and her foot tapping against the chair leg. She suddenly understood Draco’s reaction yesterday. Her stomach was doing backflips as her mind raced.

Draco placed a hand on her back, mimicking the rubbing motion she had done for him yesterday.

“Breathe, Hermione.” He said, “First, you’re going to breathe.”

“Breathe. Right. I can do that.”

She could tell Draco was trying not to laugh at her as she gulped in deep breathes and let them out slowly. Once she’d done that a few times Draco continued, his voice insanely calm in contrast to her hyper-anxious state.

“Second, we’re going to wait for the doctor.”

“Wait for the doctor. Got it.” Hermione said, her breathing slowly returning to normal.

“Third…” Draco trailed off. “Third we, ah…”

“Panic?” Hermione suggested.

“Quit it, Granger.” He grumbled, then flashed her a victorious smirk. “Third: when in doubt, go to the library.”

Hermione snorted then actually contemplated it. The library. Of course, how had she not thought of that? Indeed, it was more likely she should go to the bookstore.

“Right.” She said, nodding and Draco’s face dropped. “You know Flourish and Blotts has a whole section on magical children. I bet there are loads of books on magical pregnancies too. Maybe I could-”

Draco groaned,

“You know,” he said, “I’d almost forgotten you were such a know-it-all.”

“I’m not!” She said, “Clearly I need to brush up on my knowledge about pregnancy, I’m completely unprepared. I wonder if Flourish and Blotts has any books about-”

“Granger?” The call came from across the room.

“Thank god,” Draco muttered, already dreading the tangent Hermione had started.

Hermione, now feeling a lot calmer and even more like herself at the prospect of research, looked up to see a middle-aged woman with auburn hair and a soft face in healer robes.

“Yes,” Hermione said, getting up and crossing the room to greet the woman.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger,” she said, “I’m Healer Andrews, but you can call me Linda.”

Hermione smiled; she liked this healer. She had a genuine smile and bright, cheerful green eyes.

“You can call me Hermione,” she said tugging Draco, who was practically hiding behind her. “This is Draco Malfoy.”

“Of course,” Linda beamed at him, “and are you here as support or father-to-be, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco hesitated for a few seconds as if suddenly having this actually be a real medical question had thrown him. Hermione watched as he gulped slowly, then the confident business man’s mask fell into place. He shook Linda’s hand.

“Father.” He said, one hand gently touching Hermione’s lower back reassuringly. “Please, call me Draco.”

Linda nodded and smiled, gesturing them into a room.

Hermione hopped up onto the small exam table that Linda indicated to, and Draco sat on the stool next to her. He, to her surprise, tugged her arm to him and slipped his large hand around hers. It was pleasant, a small gestured, but she felt a lot more connected to him. Or maybe he was just nervous and needed to know she wasn’t about to bolt on him. Either way, she didn’t pull away from him.

“So,” Linda said, “You think you’re pregnant?”

Hermione nodded.

“Have you done a pregnancy test yet?” she asked, a quill perked up on her desk, and as a clipboard with parchment floated toward it, it began scribbling notes.

“Yes,” Hermione said.

“Six,” Draco smirked. Hermione flashed him a warning look.

“All positive,” Hermione said.

Linda nodded, and the little quill scribbled that down too. It paused, nib pointed towards Hermione as Linda asked whether she’d used muggle or wizarding tests as if it was watching her curiously. Hermione told her she’d used both. Draco looked at her curiously, and Hermione realised he probably had no understanding of muggle medical knowledge. So far it actually hadn’t been that different, and just from the question, Hermione wondered two things about Linda. How much she knew about Hermione and Draco and also if she too was muggleborn.

After the initial questions were done, Linda flicked her wand and floated two vials and a medical tray to her. Setting them out on the trolley next to her, she smiled at Hermione.

“Let’s get this bit out of the way first shall we. This is a potion to detect hCG in your blood. It’s similar to the pregnancy tests at the apothecary, but it is more accurate and doesn’t take as long. I’ll also draw some blood so that we can send off for a complete blood screening if you are pregnant. There’s a complete list of what we test for and why in a pamphlet I’ll give you to take home later.”

Hermione nodded, and Draco took the pamphlet that floated towards him and poked his cheek. Linda didn’t seem to notice as she continued to ask Hermione questions.

“When was your last menstruation, dear?”

“10th of December,” Hermione said.

“And when were you expecting to start again?”

“Around the sixth.”

Linda picked up a small needle, and with a ‘this might pinch a little’ inserted it into Hermione’s arm. With another flick of her wand, the blood pooled out effortlessly into the awaiting empty vial. Then she picked up the vial containing the potion and filled it with the rest of the way to the top. While she attended to the needle and pressed a cotton bud to Hermione’s arm with a ‘press down on this, dear’ the little vial shook itself.

Draco’s eyes followed it nervously.

Linda, settled back in her chair while the potion floated in the air. She smiled kindly at the two clearly nervous individuals and said.

“Now, that will take a minute until it reacts, but I’d like to take a moment to ah… address the elephant in the room.”

Hermione looked away from the vial and watched Linda. Draco, although reluctant to stop staring at the small vial slowly did the same when Hermione clenched his hand. Linda crossed her legs.

“I am aware of who you both are,” she said clearly and confidently while maintaining a professional attitude, “It’s rather hard not too, you’re both in the papers regularly enough.”

She spoke kindly, but Hermione still tried not to blush, remembering the last few mentions she’d had in the Prophet.

“However, St Mungo’s has a very clear patient confidentiality agreement. Nothing you say or anything we discuss will ever leave this room.”

Hermione let out a small breath.

“Thank you.” She said, even though she expected nothing less, it was nice to hear it. Draco smiled at Linda and nodded politely.

“I will also be seeing your pregnancy through however you decide to proceed so if you ever have any questions or concerns you may contact me directly.”

A small business card shot off the desk and bumped Draco’s hand. He plucked it after the second bump. Linda didn’t seem to notice it; she was now looking at the hanging vial.

“Ah,” she said, “it appeared to be turning a nice purple.”

Hermione gulped. Draco squeezed her hand.

“What does purple mean?” He asked hesitantly.

“Pregnant.” Hemione and Linda said at the same time.

Hermione and Draco both let out a small.

“Oh.”

That was it, she thought. No doubt now. Not that the six other positive tests really left any doubt, but it felt different with the healer’s confirmation. She really was pregnant. There was a tiny human inside of her. Both Hermione and Draco sat in stunned silence for a few minutes. Linda, who Hermione was beginning to believe was a darling of a human being, stepped out under the guise of getting them some tea.

“Oh,” Hermione repeated. “Wow.”

“Huh,” Draco grunted.

Slowly they both turned and looked each other in the eye.

“This is…” she trailed off.

“Big.” Draco finished. “Life-changing kind of big.”

“Yeah.” Hermione breathed, and they sat in silence for a few moments, just holding each other’s hand.

Draco seemed to come to his senses or at least his ability to speak first.

“I think I have a couple amendments to the steps.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, half expecting him to announce step three would be him running for the hills. “Ok.”

Draco looked at her.

“Step three,” he said, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

That shocked Hermione out of her stupor.

“Why?” She asked, bemused at his response.

Draco shrugged.

“I have no idea. I just want to, and I think it’ll make me feel better.”

“Oh, ok,” Hermione said.

Draco moved quickly. She’d almost thought he was joking until he dropped her hand and clasping her face in his hand his lips pressed firmly against hers. She returned the kiss with vigour, hands grabbing his face, and her lips parting to let him push the kiss further. He snogged her hard at first then relaxing his hands on her cheeks his kiss gentled until he was only just brushing his lips against hers and his forehead touched her own.

“Better?” She asked when she could breathe again.

“ _Mmm,_ ” he said, “A little.”

Slowly he released her and sat back in his stool. She brushed her lips with her fingers, they still tingled with his touch. It had been unexpected but enjoyable, somehow the way it made her heart race stopped the panicked butterflies in her stomach that had begun swarming upon seeing the purple vial.

“Any more of those steps you’d like to add?” She asked breathy and dazed.

Draco snorted at her,

“Yes.” He said, “Step four: you are going to ask that poor woman an incessant number of questions while I get progressively more and more annoyed about listening to them.”

Hermione smiled, but he continued.

“Step five: We go to Flourish and Blots and raid their pregnancy section.”

That earned him a full-blown grin and Hermione was tempted to lean down and kiss him again when a tap at the door announced Linda’s return.

“How are we doing?” She asked, handing each of them a small paper cup of hot tea.

“Good,” Hermione said, and for the first time she actually meant it, she glanced briefly at Draco. “I think.”

He nodded. Linda crossed her legs.

“Good then.” She said, “Now if you would like, we can discuss your options.”

She paused briefly; the message clear but Draco shook his head.

“We’re keeping it.” He said firmly.

Linda inclined her head but looked to Hermione for confirmation. She nodded, possibly too vigorously.

“All right then.” Linda smiled, “Let’s talk babies.”

The smile on her face was amused and excited. Hermione liked it, babies it seemed where Linda’s passion.

“Now you said your last menstruation was on the 10th, correct?” Linda said, glancing at her notes. Hermione nodded. “Do you have any idea about the date of conception?”

“The 22nd.” Hermione and Draco both said instantly.

Linda looked up from her notes, her patients didn’t often know the exact date although usually they were married couples. Linda, despite being a professional, couldn’t help the tiny eye-widening and ‘ _oh_ ’ of realisation.

Draco snorted, and Hermione twiddled her thumbs awkwardly. All of them were thinking about the rather incriminating article, and accompanying photos, published by the Daily Prophet on the 23rd of December, the day after the Malfoy Christmas Gala.

“So, I take it we all read the Prophet,” Draco said, making all three glance nervously at each other and a laugh caught in their throats.

“I assure you, Mr Malfoy, I’m only surprised that they managed to print something factual. I usually prefer the Quibbler, but my sister is rather fond of the Prophet’s Best Dressed section.”

Hermione let out a little breath. As if it wasn’t awkward enough half the wizarding world had seen evidence of their evening, soon they would find out about the… results of the encounter. Hermione personally hoped no one would manage to work out the dates.

“Speaking of dates,” Linda said, double-checking her calculations, “I’ve got your expected due date.”

Hermione’s eyes went round, and she glanced at Draco. Due date. That put everything in a very orderly timeline. D-Day for their lives being completely turned upside down, although Hermione supposed that could also be considered today. Depending on how you look at it. Draco nodded at Hermione, and Hermione nodded at the healer.

“Ok, so you’re expected date is the 14th of September. Remember that this is just an estimate and it will all depend on when baby is ready to come out. Magical pregnancies tend to be a little more unpredictable than muggle ones.” 

The 14th of September. It was incredibly real. Hermione understood deadlines, she’d lived by them during Hogwarts. She’d had all her OWLs and NEWTs scheduled, assignments, study sessions, exam revision. Hermione knew how to prepare; except she’d never really thought she would need to study for a baby.

She had, at one point, considered it. She and Ron had even discussed it. They’d agreed to try. Hermione knew, however, that she hadn’t been ready. She’d later realised that even if she was prepared for a child, she hadn’t been ready to have one with Ron. She hadn’t read anything about conception, child-raising or pregnancy. She’d shied away from the topic, not asking questions or trying to learn about other women’s experiences. She had a plethora of women who could have given her the answers she now lacked, but she hadn’t wanted to know. Until now. Now she was going to need to know.

Hermione shifted, leaning at the edge off the table. She needed to prepare. To research and study. She wanted to learn, and if there was one thing Hermione was good at it was learning. Thankfully, Linda seemed ready for her. Recognising Hermione’s determination to catch up on any missed time, she launched into her usually new-patient spiel.

As a healer, she informed them, she was specialised in maternity and paediatric care. She confirmed to Hermione there weren’t nearly as many different names for the different areas of specialisation as in muggle medicine but that she was versed in all care when it came to mum and baby. She then laid out their schedule, they would be seeing Linda almost exclusively until closer to the due date and then meet the team that would likely be present for the birth. Hermione asked her at least seventeen different questions about when she would be getting check-ups, how to schedule them, what she needed to do before and after them, and how the check-ups worked compared to muggle ones.

Linda didn’t seem in anyway fazed by the plethora of questions Hermione shot at her, even when Draco had rolled his eyes at her bouncing on the seat as she had done at Hogwarts. He expected her to start sticking her hand in the arm and waving it frantically. Step four was right on track. To make it worse every so often, Hermione would ask a question which would prompt another pamphlet to fly off the charmed shelf and managed, every single time, to poke Draco in the head before he could snatch it out of the air. Neither witch seemed to notice him waging war with the informational paper weapons as they were too far invested in their own medical questions.

He had to draw the line when Hermione began engaging the healer in debates about muggle medicine, of which Linda also knew a vast deal about. It had started with questions about pregnancy, but they were now discussing burn care.

“Granger,” Draco growled as she detailed how muggles had almost developed ways to grow and reproduce skin cells and how if they could mimic that in magic…

“Huh?” she said, looking at him like she’d forgotten he was there.

“Could we stay on topic?” he said, nodding to her stomach.

Hermione looked down and then nervously laughed.

“Right.” She mumbled, “Sorry.”

Even Linda shuffled, likewise chastised when she realised, they were now definitely going over schedule and were eating into her lunch break. Still, she cleared her throat and brought them back on task.

“How about I give you a demonstration of the ultrasound magic?” She said, smiling.

Hermione’s eyes widened.

“Really?” she said, “Is it advanced enough to see anything this early?”

Hermione had gotten distracted by the magic again, but Draco pressed a hand into hers, remembering why they were here and exactly what the ultrasound would show. Linda nodded as she stood up.

“Yes, there’s not much, but we should be able to see something. Thanks to magic we can get a better image with transabdominal ultrasounds, no need for transvaginal unless something is of concern.”

Hermione let out a little breathe of relief, Draco had been taking everything well so far she still wasn’t sure she could face the idea of having to put her legs in stirrups in front of him. She’d try and keep that dignity until the baby was born if she could. Linda indicated for Hermione to lie back on the table and lift her shirt.

“It’s just a wand incantation,” she told Hermione, “but it might tickle your skin.”

Hermione nodded, and Draco edged closer to her. Linda waved her wand intricately above Hermione then pressed it lightly on her lower belly. Instead of a monitor like muggles, the ultrasound projected in front of them hanging in the air. A grey blur was all they could see, then a small black oblong oval appeared somewhere in the middle. Linda focused on it and after a few adjustments pointed to something like a squiggly grey line in the middle of the black.

“That,” she said, “is your baby.”

Hermione looked awestruck, suddenly the magic of it wasn’t the most incredible thing she’d ever seen.

“Oh, my god.” She said, reaching out to touch the little grey image.

“It’s just a tiny speck.” Draco mused, unable to take his eyes from it.

“For now.” Linda said, “It will grow quickly.”

Linda flicked her wand in another pattern, and suddenly the image floating in the air solidified and shrunk. She plucked the photograph out of the air and handed it to him.

“I’m afraid we’ve run overtime,” Linda said, smiling, “but do you have any more questions for me?”

Hermione actually looked stumped.

“Anything you think of, just write it down. You’ll be back soon for your nine-week check-up.”

Hermione nodded as she pulled down her shirt.

“Thank you.” Hermione smiled and shook Linda’s hand. “Oh, actually do you have any recommendations for some books to read?”

Linda nodded,

“Oh, I have a whole list if you’re interested.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up, and Linda copied a piece of parchment with at least twelve books. Hermione took it gratefully and then turned to Draco. He was still sitting, the little photograph in his hand staring at it.

“Draco,” Hermione said, “are you coming?”

“What?” he said, not looking up.

Hermione raised a bemused eyebrow and tugged at his shoulder. He barely glanced up as he let her lead him out of the room. Hermione thanked Linda again, and nudged Draco down the corridor. They were in the elevator, thankfully alone, when he finally looked at her. He showed her the photo again.

“Look at it, Hermione.” He said, “Did you see it?”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow.

“Yes, Draco. I saw.”

He let out a confused little _hmm_ and Hermione laughed at him. The elevator door pinged as they reached the ground floor. She nudged him again to get him walking, but they were only a few metres away from the doors when they were stopped.

“There you are!”

“Finally!”

Blaise and Ginny popped up in front of them, both bouncing excitedly despite the fact this was not a planned or prepared for event.

“So?” Ginny said, looking between the two.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Draco smirked and flashed them the ultrasound picture.

“Meet the Speck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe me again. I hope you liked this chapter, it may not have been exactly what you were expecting (or maybe it was, I don't know) but we've still got a whole bunch of twists and turns to go.  
> Next chapter will be up on Monday, I have to get my ass kicked by some assignments this weekend. 
> 
> Nif.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Are you still there? Oh, sorry, I couldn't see you behind the MOUNTAIN of FLUFF! 
> 
> Hope you all survived the fluffiness of the last chapter. No one drowned in the speck avalanche, did they? 
> 
> Anyway, sorry this chapter is a day late. I underestimated how long it would take me to clean the house before our inspection today. Seriously, I didn't go to sleep until 3am and then they showed up an hour early... fun times. 
> 
> Ok, but you didn't come to hear about me.... onto our favourite pair and their itty bitty speck.

Hermione picked up her pen. And put it down again.

She didn’t know how to write the letter she needed to write. She’d tried, numerous times, to put the right words onto paper but they never seemed to work. They seemed sullen.

_I’ve done something irresponsible, but I’ve decided to face the consequences I’ve made for myself._

Or defensive.

_I know you may not approve, but I am a grown woman, I can and will face this by myself._

Or downright silly.

_I know you’re trying to enjoy your holiday. I don’t mean to ruin it but surprise- you’re going to be grandparents!_

Hermione groaned. This was ridiculous. She’d decided to write her parents a letter as they’d left just after Christmas for a holiday in Australia. Hermione had actually been right when she’d sent them away during the war- they’d always loved the country. Once Hermione had returned their memories they’d moved back to Britain but still travelled back every so often to enjoy the beaches and the heat. Hermione hated hot weather and there was no way she was could port key to Australia to inform her parents of their impending grandchild. Even if Hermione wanted to, she wasn’t allowed. Now that she was pregnant, she was advised to use apparition sparingly. No long-distance magic travel, floo was the only way she would be travelling around the country now.

Finally, Hermione scribbled something down on the paper. She was too terrified to call them, she would spill all her secrets if she heard her mothers voice right now and they would be back from their holiday in February. Then she would have to tell them their daughter had gotten drunk and was now pregnant from what was meant to be a one-night stand.

_Hi Mum and Dad,_

_Hope you’re doing well in Australia; I know you were so excited to go again. Mum- please don’t let Dad bring back anymore Vegemite- I still have the last jar of the stuff, and it’s even worse than Marmite. I just thought I would write to check-in, please don’t worry._

_I was thinking as soon as you get back, we could have a family dinner. I’d really love to talk to you about something._

_Love,_

_Hermione._

It was the best she could muster. Hermione looked down at the ultrasound photo she’d left on her dining table. She’d, in a brief moment of hysteria, thought about just sending them the photo but her dad didn’t have the most reliable heart, and it was probably advisable not to give him a heart attack by post.

She and Draco had agreed that apart from Harry, Ginny, Blaise and their parents that they wouldn’t tell anyone about the pregnancy yet. Partially as the first trimester was the riskiest but really because they had no idea how two people who weren’t even dating announced they would be having a child together. There would be no congratulatory article in the Prophet speculating whether their unborn baby would eventually be a Gryffindor or a Slytherin. It would be a scandal. It would be a huge scandal. An unconfirmed sighting of them snogging at the Christmas party had sent the Prophet into a spin even when there was plenty of other news circulating. News that the Gryffindor Golden Girl was now to be an unwed mother because of exonerated Death Eater and notorious bachelor Draco Malfoy would spread like wildfire. It would drag all the history of the two back into the light. It was easier if they tried to sort of out some details before everyone else decided to insert themselves into their business.

It had been two days since their appointment at St Mungo’s. It had gone well, she reflected later. Really well. Part of her was suspecting it had gone too well, a little dark pit in the back of her mind liked to shout terrible doubts at her whenever she was feeling overly calm about the situation. She’d been six chapters into _Mothering a Magical Child_ when it decided to remind her that although they had agreed that Hermione should tell her parents, no mention of Draco’s parents was made.

She’d decided not to worry about it. She still did, of course, but Lucius was in Azkaban so there was nothing he could do about the pregnancy and Narcissa was… somewhere. Hermione had no idea where but the witch didn’t seem inclined to return anytime soon.

Still, it had thrown her when Draco had been so positive about the experience. She’d genuinely expected him to refuse anything to do with her or the child. Instead, she’d had to practically beg him to part with the ultrasound photo long enough for them to go into the bookshop. It was suspicious enough that she had bought almost a dozen books on pregnancy, motherhood and children without him trying to show everyone ‘The Speck’. When the cashier had looked curiously at the books, Hermione had had a stroke of genius and said they were for a charity project assisting women without finances for such items. She’d actually been thankful when Draco had paid for most of the books, she made decent money but the small library she’d just purchased was no small sum. She’d still insisted on paying for a few; it didn’t feel right to put the burden on him even if they had agreed to share the books.

Hermione picked up the ultrasound and stared at it. There was almost nothing to see on it, but it was a reminder that this was real. She’d just reached the official six weeks mark the day before. She hadn’t noticed any changes, other than being tired, but she’d thrown herself at the books in preparation. They detailed each week extensively, although Hermione wondered how many women really got to experience the first few weeks even knowing they were pregnant.

She’d set up a calendar in the kitchen, already marking off her next appointment at St Mungo’s. She also knew that by then, they should be able to listen to the heartbeat for the first time. Her own heart bet harder just thinking about it.

Draco had asked her to keep him updated, but she didn’t really know what that meant. She wasn’t showing, there was no real change in her yet. Still, she picked up the second piece of parchment.

_Hi._

_Six weeks officially. No change since Tuesday, but I’ve started Mothering a Magical Child and Monthly Magic: a detailed guide to your pregnancy. Have you started reading anything yet?_

_Did you know that the Speck (I do not approve of that nickname by the way) is currently the size of a sweet pea? Last week it was only the size of an apple seed. I found a whole list in a muggle book I bought. Muggles like to compare foetuses to fruit a lot. I don’t know if that’s the same for wizards…_

_Hermione._

She folded the letter and the one for her parents. She would send them on the way to work. Thankfully no one had questioned her excuse of a stomach bug to excuse her absence on Monday or Tuesday. Hermione didn’t often take days off from work so most likely they’d all thought her gravely ill. A few had stopped by her office to tell her it was good to see her looking better and Annabelle had agreed she had looked a bit peaky last week.

* * *

Hermione shuffled a large pile of paperwork. Two days. She’d been gone for two days, and suddenly one project was a week behind schedule and another underfunded. Brilliant.

Not only was Hermione now actively trying to grow a very small human but she was getting practice mothering a large group of incompetent adults. Alright, that was a bit harsh. Some of them were competent. Others, specifically Johnson Adders and Annabelle Pith, were a handful. And apparently going through some kind of a breakup. Hermione didn’t care, but the hostile environment was now causing issues for the whole department.

She’d considered asking Mary to have one moved, but that apparently would be choosing sides in the breakup, and Hermione desperately wanted to remain neutral. So far neutral meant overseeing their arguments and trying to keep their meeting on track to get this project completed on time. On average Hermione managed and oversaw six projects at a time for W.O.F. Each project had a small team that organised the day-to-day details. Hermione had started in one of those positions and sometimes found herself missing being able to dedicate herself so fully to one idea. Now she spent as much time managing people as she did seeing genuine clients that needed help.

“Alright,” Hermione rubbed her forehead, “Can someone explain why we are missing almost 20% of our funding for next month’s wolfbane distribution?”

The Program to Assist Werewolves, or PAW, had been Hermione’s baby since the day she’d started at W.O.F. It had been her, the memory of Lupin and no funds. Since then, they had managed to sustain a costly supply of wolfsbane for werewolves in the program, and almost all were now holding down steady jobs. Now, for the first time, they’d lost a supporter and their donated funding. Hermione was furious.

Annabelle shot a fierce glare down the small table at her ex-boyfriend.

“Some people,” she said, “can’t keep it in their pants.”

Adders stared at his thumbs but still hissed under his breath.

“At least I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

Annabelle looked about ready to launch herself across the table and throttle him. Hermione interjected,

“What exactly does this have to do with our funds?” Her voice was scathing, and everyone around the table glanced nervously.

No one spoke for a moment then Penelope Clearwater, one of the few people in the company Hermione completely trusted, leant in and whispered none too subtly.

“That 20% was being donated by the Fawley family. It appears, however, someone-” a stern glance at Adders, “-had an intimate interaction with one of the Miss Fawley’s, and someone else-” a look at Annabelle, “-saw fit to inform the young woman’s grandfather.”

Hermione groaned. She glared at the two employees. They’d lost her valuable funding, some of which she’d been petitioning for months. Not to mention they could have done to W.O.F.’s reputation.

“Are you two aware of how damaging this could be?” She growled at the entire table, “You’ve lost funding for one of our most effective programs. Not only have you lost funds, but you’ve also lost the trust of a long-time supporter of our organisations, and you’ve put the people who need us the most at risk. Which of you would like to explain to the werewolves who rely on the wolfsbane that they may have to lose control of their bodies next month? They could lose their jobs, their families or they could get loose and hurt someone.”

Everyone stared at the table as Hermione looked at every member of the small team.

“You need to think about the bigger picture. We come here to change lives. Now you’ve let a moment of weakness define our actions. People respect us. We started as a small organisation who helped children orphaned by the war, but we have grown so far beyond that. We rely on our good name so they will come to us when they are in need, and so others will donate to support our work. You have damaged that reputation today. Next time don’t-”

Hermione faltered for a moment and sighed. She’d been about to say never sleep with one of their benefactors. Except she had. She’d slept with their biggest benefactor. She was going to have his child. It was probably best not to set herself up for humiliation already.

“Just,” she said, “think about how your actions affect others, alright. You’re not children, I can’t tell you how to conduct your relationships, but the wizarding community in Britain is smaller than you think. People talk, and they remember. Your actions reflect your person, make them worthwhile.”

Penelope, the only one not looking well chastised gave her an approving nod. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes at her, this wasn’t the first time Hermione had to do some variation of the ‘I’m not mad, I’m disappointed’ speech. While their organisation had incredibly hard workers, there were a lot of fresh, bold witches and wizards that joined because they knew experience at W.O.F. was highly valued in the sort after Ministry positions. Despite their short tenure as an organisation, they had built a fierce reputation of skilled, efficient workers.

There was a gently tap at the door, and the receptionist poked his bright, cheery face into the room.

“Sorry.” He said, still smiling. “Miss Granger, you’ve a visitor waiting for you.”

Hermione frowned and checked her watch. She didn’t have any appointments scheduled for the day, just a preliminary meeting with the Wizenmagot later in the afternoon. There was no way she could be late for anything. She was meant to be doing damage control and getting her projects back on track until then.

“It’s not scheduled.” The receptionist said, “but, ah, I didn’t think you’d want to miss this visitor.”

Hermione leant back in her chair, trying to see through the glass walls.

“Who is it, Charles?” She asked, her view blocked by a poster promoting goblin rights.

Hermione didn’t get many clients in the office.

“One of our benefactors, Mr Malfoy.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, suddenly doubting this was a business appointment. “Can you tell him I’ll be there as soon as this meeting is done?”

Charles looked uncomfortable, leaning on the doorway, so more of this body was in the room.

“It’s just that,” he whispered loudly, “he asked for you specifically, and Mary has already spotted him. She’s about to have a conniption, you know what she’d like with these big benefactors.”

Hermione looked at the ceiling and huffed. She did know what their boss was like. She also knew she had to be that way, or they quite simply wouldn’t have the funding they did. Mary’s ability to soothe and schmooze the big businesses of the wizarding world was legendary. She’d single handily managed to get previously Death Eater filled families throwing money at her to raise the poor orphaned children left behind by the war. She’d made not being a terrible human being the most significant and influential trend in high society. Everyone wanted to been seen at the W.O.F.s charity dinners or their name on an important project. The socialites thrived on the attention, and the press ate it up. The good it had done was incredible, but it came at a price, Mary spent every waking moment managing their funds and appeasing the big pockets they came from.

For all the years Draco had been donating to them, he’d never come to their offices. His sudden appearance would have Mary on the edge of her seat.

“Alright,” Hermione said, conceding defeat. If she didn’t go out there, then Mary would no doubt come barging in demanding Hermione see to Draco’s every whim. “Take Draco to my office, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

From the looks Hermione received her use of the Malfoy’s first name was dutifully noted by all. Hermione supposed they’d best get used to the idea of her being friendly with him sooner rather than later, he was going to be an unusual fixture in her life from now on. Charles recovered first, nodding and heading back to the reception area.

Hermione took a few minutes to deliver new assignments to her team and then left Penelope to coordinate the rest of the meeting.

Hermione’s office door was closed as she approached and she could see Mary observing though her own open door. The older witch raised a hand questioningly, communicating to Hermione from across the office. Hermione shrugged but tried not to look concerned, her boss would also have to get used to Draco too.

Hermione slipped into her office.

“Hi.” She said, a little nervously to the man lounging casually on her guest chair.

“Hi,” Draco said, voice smooth and playful smirk already appearing on his lips. “Sorry, I didn’t realise you were in a meeting.”

Hermione glanced at the clock, 11:45 it announced.

“I generally am.” She said, “there’s always something to kind of meeting around here. Most of them could probably be memo’s but…”

She trailed off with a shrugged. Draco nodded like he understood the feeling.

“How are you feeling?” He asked with a quick, subtle glance down at her waist.

“Fine,” Hermione said. “Tired mostly.”

Draco frowned,

“All the books say you shouldn’t overwork yourself. You-”

“I,” Hermione said, sternly cutting him off, “am perfectly capable of doing a full day’s work.”

Draco pursed his lips.

“I’m only six weeks pregnant, Draco. Sure, I’m a bit more tired than normal, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to go home and lie on the sofa all day.”

“I know.” Draco said, “I was just saying-”

“You were butting.” Hermione leant against her desk and folded her arms against her chest. Actually, ‘tired’ wasn’t her only symptom. Her breasts were also tender and chaffed against her bra, but she wasn’t going to mention that to him.

Draco lifted an eyebrow.

“Butting?” He dripped the word sarcastically of his lips.

“Yes.” Hermione said, jutting her chin, stubbornly, “You’re butting in on my business.”

Draco snorted.

“Sorry, Granger,” he said. Hermione wrinkled her nose at his habit of going back to her last name whenever he was annoyed at her or trying to annoy her, “but as you put it, my business is inside of you right now. That means you are my business.”

Hermione tried not to roll her eyes at him. She tried to understand his point of view. After all, Hermione was the one carrying their child, it was with her all the time. She didn’t know how she’d feel if someone else was carrying her offspring. Probably less sore seeing as it wouldn’t be her breasts aching. She wished she could give that responsibility to Draco.

“Speaking of,” Draco said, “I actually came to ask you to lunch.”

Hermione perked up at that. She was hungry. Really hungry.

“Yes.” She said, eyeing the clock again.

“I haven’t asked yet.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Then ask.”

“Do you want to go out for lunch with me?”

“Ye- wait, no.” Hermione faltered making Draco wrinkle his brow in confusion.

“No?”

“Um. Food, yes. Out, no.” Hermione said awkwardly, looking at her hands as she spoke.

“You’ve lost me,” Draco said with a frown.

“I just… don’t want to have people see us out for lunch and think it’s a date or anything. You know what the Prophet’s like.” She tried to explain.

Draco frowned, looking genuinely concerned. Hermione didn’t know how to explain it. It wasn’t that she didn’t like spending time with Draco and, Merlin, they would be spending a lot of time together soon, but it seemed like they were running into trouble every time they were seen together. Just going to the bookstore the previous day had involved an elaborate lie. Hermione didn’t want another article going out, suggesting that they were dating or anything closer to the truth.

“You don’t want to be seen with me?” Draco asked slowly.

Hermione’s face paled, realising she’d offended him.

“It’s not you, I promise.” She said hurriedly, “I don’t mind people seeing us going out as friends but if we do, the next thing you know the prophet is telling everyone we’ve snuck out for a midday rendezvous.”

Draco nodded very slowly, clearly thinking over her words. Hermione hated having to try and rush out her feelings, she liked to have time and sort out her words before trying to explain them to someone else. She was a perfectionist, and unfortunately, there was no book out there for her to study in regards to her own messed up feelings on their situation. If Draco wanted an hour-long speech on use properties of dragon blood Hermione was prepared, but her own opinions on their relationship and she’d need a few hours to prepare a comprehensive presentation, or it would be a garbled mess.

“We’re friends now?” Draco smirked, although still frowning.

Hermione blew out an exasperated breath, making some of her curls dance. She waved her hand between them.

“I don’t know. What would you call this?” She asked.

“I don’t know, either.” Draco shrugged, “That’s why I asked you to lunch.”

Hermione pursed her lips; she knew this wasn’t just a friendly call. Draco Malfoy always had an ulterior motive. He’d come to lure her with promises of food, but really it was an ambush for a conversation Hermione would very much like to put off.

“So, you came here to talk about us, not take me out for a nice lunch.” She mock pouted, a ridiculous expression she almost instantly regretted. “Here I was thinking you cared about me eating, but no, you didn’t just decide to take your pregnant…”

Hermione faltered. She didn’t know what the rest of the sentence was meant to be, it was just missing a glaring word. A word she didn’t know. ‘You didn’t just decide to take your pregnant _insert-blank-here_ out for lunch from the goodness of your heart…’ She’d been trying to lighten the mood a little and stumbled right into the heart of the problem. Draco saw it too; he folded his arms, looking satisfied.

“You see.” He said smugly, “My pregnant, what exactly?”

Hermione studied the wood of her desk, intently for a few minutes.

“Friend?”

“Again, I ask. Are we friends?”

“I don’t know. We’re something…”

“Which is exactly why I asked you to lunch?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, they were going in circles. She wanted to go to lunch, she even looked forward to the idea of spending time with Draco, but she didn’t fancy the Prophet seeing them and she didn’t feel ready to discuss what they were going to mean to each other. Draco was watching her curiously, looking stunning as usual as he leant back in her office chair.

“As a date or as friends?” Hermione asked cautiously.

“I-” Draco hesitated, looking up at her with bright grey eyes. “Do you want it to be as a date?”

“I don’t…. know.” Hermione had to look away, feeling like they were roaming to dangerous territory that tugged at something low in her gut.

“Yes, you’ve said that.” Draco sounded irritable now, glaring down at his hands.

“Damn it, Draco. Don’t jump down my throat because I don’t know.”

Hermione let out an annoyed groan, she couldn’t keep up with this conversation. They were bouncing between teasing, flirting and arguing so rapidly it was making her head spin. She’d already had a bad enough morning, she was meant to be sorting out her work debacles not the ones currently plaguing her personal life. She glared at her toes before finally letting out a stream of conscious thought.

“I don’t know if I want to go on a date with you because I don’t know you. Or I know you too well. I know you, Malfoy, as the pain in the ass Slytherin asshole who mirthlessly tormented me at Hogwarts. I also know you as Draco, who collects fire whisky and who likes to shag slowly in the morning when the sun is dawning, so the sunlight comes with us.”

She blushed remembering the words he had whispered to her as dawn spilt its morning light over her body and their orgasm. However, she pushed on, thoughts flowing now, and she didn’t dare stop herself in case she lost her train of thought before she could come to some kind of a conclusion.

“I don’t know if I want to date you Draco because I want the chance to know you. We’re not friends right now, we don’t even know each other. We’re just two people who shared one night and would have gone back to barely knowing each other except now we’re in this weird situation and are stuck together. So, if you ask me if I want to go on a date with you right now? Then, no. I don’t. I don’t want to date you while I get to know you only to find out it’s a disaster and you want nothing to do with me or this child.”

“Hermione.” Draco stood abruptly, interrupting her and she tried to wave him off so she could continue her rambling, but he grabbed one of her flailing arms causing her to stop and look at him. “I need you to listen to me.”

His face was so still and so severe that she stopped and gulped. His eyes burned into her as she slowly nodded.

“You and me, whatever our relationship ends up as, it is completely separate to the speck.”

Hermione tried to open her mouth to argue, but Draco stopped her with a warning glare.

“We date, we don’t date. We’re friends, we hate each other. Regardless of what happens Hermione, that child is my blood, and I will be there for it. I need you to know that. I am not going to walk away; I’m not going to change my mind. The speck is my family now, regardless of how it came about or what happens next. I’m not running away.”

Hermione nodded dumbly. She’d never seen Draco look so serious or so earnest. His voice was solemn, and Hermione realised how much she’d needed to hear those words. All her fear about the pregnancy over the last few days had been about whether she was doing the right thing. If she was going to be able to raise the baby alone if that’s what it came down to. Despite how well Draco had taken the news and how the appointment at St Mungo’s had gone, she’d been terrified Draco would turn around and walk away. Hermione realised, with a small start, Draco was far more like his mother than anyone gave him credit for. Narcissa had lied in the face of the Dark Lord to save her son. Perhaps Lucius had made a terrible choice when it came to his family, but Draco’s mother had been prepared to die for the smallest hope her son was still alive. Hermione could see that fierce determination in Draco’s eyes now. He was intense, and she was incredibly grateful that it was the case. She needed him to love this child, regardless of how insane the rest of this situation was.

Still holding his dark eyes, Hermione found herself moving forward. She grabbed Draco and slammed her lips on his. Draco’s hands clutched at her waist with a surprised

“ _Ouf_ ”

Despite his shock, he pushed back at her, opening her mouth with his and pressing her body into him. Between desperate kisses, he muttered

“Hermione. Didn’t you just say we should be friends?”

Hermione bit out words between clashing lips.

“Yes.” She said. “Friends. Just… Just Friends.”

She dragged him backwards with her until they were pressing against her desk, and he wound one hand into her hair.

“Not,” Draco said, kissing her lips roughly, “that I’m not enjoying this.” She attacked his lips, muffling his next words “Because I am.” He bit her lip, “But.” She sucked on his lower lip, “This. Isn’t. Exactly.”

Draco hitched her waist up, pushing her bottom back, onto her desk and pressing into her.

“Friendly.” His finished the sentence as she wrapped her legs around his hips.

“Right.” Hermione groaned as he pressed a kiss to her neck. She pulled at his outer robes, her hands sought out his belt and used it to tug him closer her while he pulled her to the edge of the desk. “Friends.”

Something about the man had released something inside of her. Hermione had never been obsessed with sex. She’d enjoyed it, but this desperate need throbbing inside her now was new. She wanted to touch him, feel every inch of him. Everything inside her burned. She needed him to touch her, to feel him inside her again. Their first night had created an ache inside of her body, and she just knew he was the only one who could fill it.

“Friends?” Draco grunted again, kissing her lips while his hand pushed her skirt up while she lifted herself, cool wood of her desk pressing against her exposed skin. 

“Friends.” She groaned, prying his belt open and undoing his fly.

His hand slid up her leg, finding her soaked knickers, and he let out a soft hiss of pleasure as she likewise slipped her hands inside his boxers and clasped him.

“ _Eugn_.” Hermione hung her head back, letting out a desperate moan as Draco pushed two fingers inside her, thrusting slowly.

“Do you do this with all your friends, Miss Granger?” Draco purred, looking at her face now that she wasn’t viciously attacking his lips with her own.

Her head was leant back, eyes partially closed in ecstasy, feeling the way he held her and dipped his head to kiss her exposed throat. Something in the back of her mind warned her this wasn’t a good idea, that she’d just rationalised the exact opposite of this situation. They needed to get to know one another, unbridled with sex and lust. She shouldn’t be giving in to this luxurious feeling coursing through her veins. Like nothing she had ever felt before, his slow ministration made her willing to do anything to attain more of his touch. Her mouth parted slightly, soft pleasured breaths as he kissed a sensitive spot under her ear. Everything, her resolve, her worries, her logic, was unravelled by his soft lips brushing her skin.

“Just the ones who know how to fuck like gods.” She could feel him smirk into her skin and vaguely wondered if it wasn’t such a good idea to inflate his ego even more.

They moved together, both pumping slowly to each other’s pleasure. Hermione pushed his pants out of the way, and Draco slipped his fingers out of her so he could drag her knickers off, lifting her bottom to devest her of the garment.

She didn’t know what he did with them, but she was too invested in his tip, pressing against her slit to care. She needed him, and she gasped softly as he pushed in, stretching her.

She could feel him, the delightful pressure as he filled her completely. Her eyes rolled backwards, while she savoured the building pleasure as he sank in, gifting her with a soft moan and a languished kiss as he relished the feel of her tight walls clenching him.

“Gods, Hermione.” He panted into her neck. “Do you know how good this feels?”

Hermione kissed a trail up his neck and sucking on his ear lobe moaned a simple

“Yes.”

Something about their reconnection was different as if their bodies had longed for it. Hermione could feel every inch of him as he slowly drew out, her muscles crying out for their loss. Draco pulled out, making her hiss with the loss of him, then thrust sharply, hip snapping into hers as he drove deep.

He captured her gasping moan with his mouth, stopping the noise from escaping the small office. He pulled out, torturing her into soft pants as he prolonged the sensation. Hermione was desperate, she slid her hands under his robes and clawed as his back trying to drive him in. He nipped at her neck, continuing his slow punishment. She had to bite down on his shoulder when Draco thrust again, his cock hitting deep in her walls and making Hermione sure he would force her to come in only a few thrusts. Draco drew out again this time not as slow, she bit down on him before begging.

“Please, Draco.” Her voice soft and breathless, “I need you.”

He groaned into her and Hermione realised he liked when she whispered into his ear. She pulled him closer, moaning his name again. Draco clenched her hips and thrust into her, making her hum around him.

“Draco.” She begged with his name again, “Gods, you feel so good.”

Hermione smiled to herself as the rhythm picked up again, she was enjoying herself, seeing how she could make him react, to push him his restraint to the edge just with her voice.

“Do you know how much I’ve thought about this?” She panted, still sinking her nails into his skin. “When I can’t sleep at night. I think about all the times you’ve taken me. I think about how wet you make me when I touch myself.”

Draco nipped her neck, his hips thrusting against hers furiously now. He let out a deep moan and just from the tone of it she could tell he knew exactly what she was doing and he didn’t think she was playing fair. He leant back, slipping a finger between them and rubbed small circles on her clit.

Hermione looked into his eyes and knew he was close. She saw the way his pupils dilated and fixated on her face, waiting for her to spill over for him.

She was close, she could feel her walls beginning to spasm around him, clenching as he continued to stimulate her clit.

“That’s it, love.” He groaned, watching her pleasure build, “You’re not the only one with filthy little fantasies, you don’t think I remember every time you’ve come around my cock?”

Hermione’s heart raced at his words, he smirked as he played her mind games back to her.

“Replaying every time you’ve moaned my name. Your perfect eyes begging me for more.” He thrust faster, building his own climax and Hermione moaned a little too loudly.

She stuffed her hand into her mouth, biting down hard on her palm to stop herself from screaming. She felt her walls tighten around Draco, milking him as he pressed his face into her neck and muffled his moaning into her hair.

“Oh gods, Draco.” She rode the intense pleasure that coursed through her whole body, clinging to him as she gasped through the blinding lights in her eyes.

They leant against each other, relishing the aftershocks for a few moments until Draco kissed her lips softly with a mischievous smirk.

He was about to make some smart comment and Hermione opened her mouth to tell him to shove it when a brisk knock interrupted them.

Hermione’s eyes went wide. _Oh, gods,_ she’d officially gone mad! It was the middle of the day, and they were in her office. Draco’s eyes went wide as if realising their position. Hermione was dishevelled, her hair a mess and her skirt shucked up to her hips. Draco’s shirt was untucked, his pants undone and his hair clearly run through by desperate fingers. They looked like they’d just had an unprompted shag in a highly unethical location.

Which is precisely what they had done.

Draco stepped back, tucking himself and his shirttails into his pants, then smoothing his outer robes. He ran his hand through his hair, it still looked messy comparative to his usual standard of grooming, but it was a near sight better than Hermione. She tugged her skirt back down, the traces of Draco still staining her thighs as she looked around her office. She had no idea where her knickers had gone. She reached up, trying to neaten her hair even slightly when a gentle voice called.

“Miss Granger, it’s Betty, dear. Did you want anything off the trolley?”

Hermione let out a rough sigh,

“No!” She called back a little too loudly, “No, thank you, Betty.”

“Alrighty then, dear.”

Creaky wheels announced the depart of the luncheon witch and Hermione pressed her hand against her heart. It was still pounding painfully in her chest, she wasn’t sure if it was from the panic or if her body was still recovering from the earth-shattering orgasm Draco had given her. _Merlin_. She needed to cool it. They had almost just been caught shagging against her desk by the sweetest, most innocent lunch lady Hermione had ever met. She’d never be able to look Betty in the eye ever again.

Draco, now looking somewhat put together, glanced at her. As if trying to assess her mental state in case she chose to blow up at him. Not that she could, she thought, she had been the one to practically throw herself at him.

And for what? Promising to look after his kid even if he ended up hating her. Had it been that at all? She knew she was incredibly grateful to know that Draco wanted to step up to the mess they’d made, but a little part of her wondered if she had taken advantage of the moment. She hadn’t lied to him, she had thought about him a few times, alone and needy in her bed. She had craved his touch since the Christmas Gala. Somehow knowing how good they were together, how incredibly mindblowing the sex felt made had created an insatiable ache.

But, Hermione groaned aloud while she processed the mess she’d just made, she couldn’t afford to be selfish and weak right now. She wasn’t only using Draco for cheap thrills, they couldn’t walk away from each other anymore. They would, for better or worse, have to have a civil relationship. What she had reasoned to herself before the temporary insanity of lust was true. Apart from his body, Hermione knew nearly nothing about who Draco was now. They needed to develop some kind of friendship to make sure they could be there for their eventual child. Regardless of how good it was, Hermione wasn’t willing to build that relationship when they were being clouded by sex.

Hermione rubbed her hand against her forehead, this had been a monstrously bad idea. It had felt incredible, but now she’d just gone and made this whole situation even worse. And she’d been leading Draco on. Hermione wasn’t even sure of what Draco wanted yet, he’d never said whether he wanted to date her or not, but potentially, after what she’d just done, he’d think she was saying she did want them to be in a relationship.

She just wasn’t ready to make that kind of leap of faith. Sex, sure they were compatible for that, but a real relationship? That was a whole different idea.

“This… uh,” Draco said when Hermione wasn’t the first to speak.

Hermione groaned.

“I’m sorry, Draco.” She said, still sounding confused and tears suddenly brimming in her eyes. _Great_ , she thought, _hello hormones_. “This, I… I shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t fair on you.”

Hermione wiped one eye while Draco seemed to process her limited words. Eventually, he sighed,

“Granger… Hermione.” He said, approaching her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to spring this conversation on you over lunch.”

Hermione sniffled and gave him a tiny nod.

“I just…” she mumbled, “Oh gods, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m a work. That was… was… incredibly inappropriate. I just jumped on you.”

Draco snorted,

“I wasn’t really complaining.”

Hermione hiccuped a tiny laugh, and Draco pulled her to him with one arm. He wrapped her into a hug, her face squished into his chest.

“I’m really sorry.” He mumbled into her hair. “Not about the sex, that was brilliant.”

Hermione pulled one hand up and thumped him lightly on the shoulder.

“I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. I probably should have started with the whole ‘not going to leave you and the speck’ part.”

Hermione _hmph_ ed into his warm chest.

“I probably still would have jumped you.” She mumbled. “I’m so stupid. I told you we should be friends and then practically pulled your pants off.”

Draco snorted,

“Again. I wasn’t exactly stopping you. I heard what you said about friends, and I was still yanking your skirt up the first chance I got.”

Hermione chuckled.

“This is insane.” She muttered, “How are we meant to build a relationship if we can’t even talk about not having sex without having sex?”

Draco pulled her back, leaning on the chair as he held Hermione’s shoulders. She was still crying, small balls of tears running down her cheeks.

“Alright,” Draco said, trying to maintain a calm voice and rubbing her shoulders soothingly. “I’ve an idea for step six.”

Hermione sniffled, slowly getting control of her tears.

“What’s step six?’

“Step six: working out what the hell we are to each other,” Draco said, with a frown. Clearly, he had no idea either. “I think we should both take a few days to think about what we want. Separately, seeing as you don’t seem to be able to think in my presence without trying to get in my pants.”

Hermione gave another little hiccup laugh,

“You’re no better, Malfoy.”

“Can you blame me?” He smirked, then his face dropped back to serious. “We take a few days, away from each other, to think about how we do this. If we both agree we want to try to date or just to be friends, then we’ll go from there.”

Hermione nodded slowly. Time. She needed time to think. Time when she wasn’t distracted by Draco’s hands on her body, even just having his arms around her shoulders, was distracting. She would be able to think rationally. Like she, Hermione Granger, was meant to do.

“Ok,” Hermione said, trying to smile. “That’s a good step six.”

Draco smiled at her. Hermione sniffled again.

“Um,” Draco said, “Hermione, why are you still crying?”

Hermione's chin wobbled and then she burst, a long sob breaking from her throat.

“Because” she whined, throwing her hands up in the air, “I’m starving now, and Betty has the best sandwiches, but I had to send her away!”

Draco couldn’t help himself, he snorted loudly.

“Oh, gods.” He said, “You really are pregnant, aren’t you.”

Hermione thumped him again, as he continued to laugh at her, and the tears refused to stop pouring down her cheeks.


	6. Chapter 6

As per Draco’s suggestion, Hermione spent the next few days thinking about how they were going to manage their relationship. Despite the mind-blowing sex, she needed to choose whether she thought they could ever be a good couple or if it was just safer being friends.

In typical fashion, she went to her books for help. On Monday, she decided that although they weren’t going to meeting in person, in case of further accidental intercourse, she could always write Draco a letter. Nothing unsafe about that, her knickers would firmly remain in place. They could discuss their situation without her getting distracted by the size of his hands.

Hermione also decided she needed to take those few days apart to sort out the plethora of inappropriate thoughts she had about Draco. If she did decide they could only be friends, it was going to be a disaster if she couldn’t keep her mind in check.

_19 th February_

_Draco,_

_I’ve thought about your proposition for step six. Although it’s sound in concept, I think it could do with some refining. I’ve jotted down a small list of ideas and questions we should think about this week. I also did some research and found some questions recommended for potential parents; I’ve included some of those too._

_1) Do you think we would be compatible as a couple?_

_2) If so, why._

_3) If we aren’t a couple, where do you expect the baby to live?_

_4) If we are a couple, where do you expect the baby to live?_

_5) Do you plan on telling your parents? Mine are in Australia at the moment, but I’ll let them know when they get back._

_6) Do you believe in circumcision? If we have a boy, will you want it done?_

_7) Will you take time off once the baby is born? Who will care for the baby once it’s born?_

_8) Are you religious? Do you want to raise your children religious?_

_9) Do you want to have the baby to have your last name?_

_10) Do you have to keep referring to the baby as the Speck?_

_Hermione._

Draco’s reply arrived quickly. Hermione had stopped by the post office on her way to work, but Draco had his own owl, a large haughty eagle owl. He arrived during Hermione’s lunch hour, tapping impatiently at the window until she let him in.

It deposited Draco’s reply and stole the last crust from Hermione’s sandwich in payment, making itself comfortable on her bookcase to eat. She read the short letter from Draco and sent the owl on its own with a response.

_19 th February_

**_Granger._ **

**_This was the worst plan ever; I can’t believe you’re setting homework. Would you like me to send you a scroll with my answers or can they wait until I see you next?_ **

**_D.M_ **

****

****

_19 th February_

_Draco,_

_Actually, a scroll would be excellent, I’m swamped this week._

_Hermione._

_Ps. I told you to stop calling me Granger._

The next letter was much thicker, a neat scroll attached to the leg of the owl, who was named Apollo if his tag was correct. He didn’t stick around this time, having missed Hermione’s lunch and she had to wait for the following day to reply to Draco.

_20 th February_

**_Hermione,_ **

**_Typical._ **

**_1) I don’t know. Although if you start setting homework for dates then definitely not._ **

**_2) see above._ **

**_3) Where ever you and the Speck want to live, I presume. There is obviously plenty of room in the Manor._ **

**_4) This couldn’t have just been a part of question three?_ **

**_5) I will write to Mother. However, I have never written to and have no intention of discussing anything with Lucius. He can find out when, inevitably, the Prophet does._ **

**_6) ~~What is that? A muggle thing?~~ Never mind, I researched it, and no, we will not be doing that. Gods. _ **

**_7) Yes, I don’t know for how long. Us, I presume. With help from a house-elf whenever you decide to return to work._ **

**_8) Not particularly. We have godparents, but the Malfoy’s have not practised any religion in many years._ **

**_9) Yes._ **

**_10) Yes, mostly because it annoys you._ **

**_D.M_ **

**_Ps. You’ll be seven weeks tomorrow, what kind of fruit is the Speck now?_ **

_21 st February_

_Draco,_

_Our BABY is the size of blueberry this week. Also, I’ve recently discovered that morning sickness is profoundly unpleasant and not confined to the morning. I almost puked on Harry yesterday._

_Hermione._

_P.S. Mushrooms are evil, I never want to see or smell another of the ghastly fungi again._

She’d had dinner with the Potters the evening before, and discovered that cooking mushrooms now sent her stomach curling. Poor Harry had almost lost his own dinner when Hermione ran gagging to the bathroom. Ginny, for some reason, had thought the whole thing hilarious.

They’d asked about Draco a few times, but Hermione didn’t know what to say. She didn’t really know what they were at the moment. They were talking, which Hermione enjoyed, although she seriously hated that Ginny was now calling the baby the Speck too. It was not a nickname she wanted to spread.

After dinner, they’d lounged around all evening, and Hermione had cried again when Harry gave her a great speech about how he and Ginny would be there through the pregnancy, the birth and raising the child. Harry had even offered to be nice to Draco if he was going to be involved with the baby.

_21 st February_

**_Hermione,_ **

**_Clearly, the Speck has good instincts if it’s aiming for Potter._ **

**_D.M_ **

**_P.S. I’ve enclosed some sugar quills; apparently, they help with the morning sickness._ **

**_P.P.S. I’m still waiting on my scroll; did you think I’m the only one who has to do the homework?_ **

Hermione smiled as she read Draco’s letter at her desk. It had arrived with a small package of sugar quills, which she’d been hiding in her desk draw and sucking on whenever anyone at the office wouldn’t notice. She didn’t really need anyone asking why she was suddenly obsessed with the sweet.

Apollo, unfortunately, was not a big a fan of the quills, he’d nipped Hermione’s finger when he arrived, and she’d had to apologise by sharing a piece of roast beef from her sandwich. She didn’t have time to pen a reply at her desk, there was another meeting to attend, so she sent Apollo off after he had finished his meal.

_22 nd February_

_Draco,_

_Thank you for the sugar quills, they are amazing._

_1) Sometimes, it depends on if you’re being a prat or not._

_2) I regret putting this question here._

_3) I am not living at the Manor. My flat is perfectly adequate._

_4) Because I thought you might have a different answer but regardless, see above for mine._

_5) n/a_

_6) No, I was just curious about what your answer was._ _Apparently, it's one of those things couples are supposed to ask before they have a child together, but then the article assumed that people would be in a couple when they decided to have a child together. How naive, clearly they've never tried fire whisky before._

_7) Yes, W.O.F. has good maternity leave. I am not having some poor enslaved house-elf raise our child for us! We can hire a nanny if we’re both planning on returning to work._

_8) My grandparents are Catholic (French background) but my parents and I never really went to church either. I like the idea of Godparents, though. Harry and Ginny would make excellent godparents._

_9) Yes._

_10) It’s terrible, and I hate it._

_What are you doing Sunday? It’s been a week since you came to my office (also, no one heard thank god)._

_Hermione._

_Ps. Send more sugar quills._

Hermione had been terrified she would be called into Mary’s office some point this week and informed that some poor soul had overheard them in her office the week before. So far no one appeared to have noticed, there were no awkward glances or disapproving frowns thrown her way. Personally, she felt she deserved them. Sex in her office, during the lunch hour. Her cheeks burned every time she thought about it. It would have taken them two seconds to cast a silencing charm, but she’d been so out of her mind in desperation to feel Draco touching her again she’d practically forgotten she was a witch. Thank Merlin, the windows of her office didn't face any other buildings or gods knew who would have gotten an eye full.

Now that it was Friday again, Hermione sighed in relief, hoping this meant she was in the clear. Surely, if anyone was going to insist she be fired for inappropriate use of the workspace, then they would have come forward by now.

It was a week since they had said they would take a few days to think. Hermione was nervous, but she knew they should discuss their future soon. Putting it off would only make it more awkward to talk about. She received a reply on the Saturday along with a massive box of sugar quills. Apollo had flown in with the help of another rather tubby looking owl, looking frightfully cross at his companion. 

_23 rd February_

**_Hermione,_ **

**_First of all, rude. You can’t call me a prat when I went hunting after a lunch lady to buy you an overpriced sandwich just to make you stop crying. When else have I been a prat to you? (Hogwarts excluded)_ **

**_Second of all, that’s very discriminatory of you to exclude house-elves from our nanny search. You’ve made Misty cry. She’s very adequately paid, clothed and was very much devastated over your letter. She is, however, a little nosey when it comes to personal correspondence (Misty- I know you’re reading this)._ **

**_I’ve available on Sunday. When and where?_ **

**_D.M_ **

_24 th February_

_Draco and Misty_

_Sorry, I intended to reply last night, but I got distracted cleaning the kitchen, and then I fell asleep. I’m not used to always being this tired- I blame you for that._

_Please see your answer in regards to the 10 th question. Prat. _

_Also, I didn’t mean that many sugar quills! But thank you._

_Misty, I’ve very sorry I upset you. I did not intend to exclude any house-elf from being our Nanny, I only meant that I would never use the employ of a house-elf that is not free._

_Sunday at 10am, my flat._

_Hermione._

****

**_24 th February_ **

**_Hermione,_ **

**_Misty accepts your apologies. She was delighted and has begun knitting booties. I blame this on you. She’s also sworn not to tell anyone._ **

**_I forgot to mention in my last letter, Potter will not be the godfather to my child! Ginevra is suitable. I propose Blaise as Godfather, he is at least a Slytherin._ **

**_I don’t know where your flat is. I’ve read that some women get ‘baby brain’, is that setting in already or have you simply read so many books basic information is now dripping out your ears? (Alright, sometimes I’m a prat, but you’re always a know-it-all)._ **

**_D.M_ **

_24 th February_

_Draco,_

_My flat is at 8 Chambers Rd, I’ll add you to the wards._

_Misty- Did you clean my flat?! I don’t understand how you got past my wards, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t do it again without my permission._

_Hermione._

Apollo, who had been the one delivering their letters throughout Saturday gave Hermione a sharp peck on the finger when she attached her final reply. The poor bird hadn’t gotten any rest, flying between the two houses.

Hermione worried at her lip. She would see Draco tomorrow. She’d have to talk to him tomorrow. She’d had a week to think about what she wanted, and she was still conflicted.

* * *

Hermione sighed and stretched out on the sofa. Usually, she spent at least part of her weekend making sure her flat was clean after neglecting it throughout the workweek. This week, however, her flat was sparkling clean; bloody house-elf. Hermione had returned from breakfast with Padma the day before to find her flat more spotless than she’d ever managed to get it. She appreciated the help, but it was incredibly odd to come home and know someone had been there. Also, she had no idea how the elf had managed to get past all her wards.

She glanced at the final letter from Draco, it had come late last night, but by then she’d fallen asleep on the sofa. She’d been reading another book, the last one in her pile, and Draco was going to bring his by today, so they could swap.

Hermione nibbled on her lip. She wondered if it was too late to write back. It was only 9am, and Draco wasn’t planning on coming to her house until 10am. She scanned the last line and smirked.

**Do you need me to bring anything? You won’t cry if I don’t feed you, right?**

She was actually hungry, and she hadn’t had the chance to do any groceries yet. She picked up a quill and scribbled a small note on it. She charmed it into a small aeroplane and walked to the floo. A pinch of powder and Hermione flew the little plane through the green flames to Malfoy Manor, knowing that Misty would make sure Draco got her message.

Perhaps it was time to get an owl. Hermione had been relying on Draco’s eagle owl all week, and if she’d missed the large creature, she’d had to send her next letter on the way to work. The floo message was neat but only worked if she had access to someone’s floo and then it wouldn’t be guaranteed that they would find the message in time.

Hermione was about to flop back down onto the sofa when the floo roared again, another little plane popping out and skittering across her floor. It wasn’t very elegant, but the communication worked.

She plucked up the note and read.

**Congratulations. Misty just read your note and is now preparing you an entire feast. We’ll be over there soon. I don’t think she can wait until 10am.**

Hermione gulped. _Crap._ She was still in her pyjamas. And her hair was a frightful mess.

She was in the bathroom tugging a hair tie into her wild locks when the floo flared again. She hadn’t addressed her clothes yet. Hermione stuck her head out of the door. Draco was smirking at her from the sitting room, looking well dressed in tailored grey robes.

“Hi.” He said, glancing at her attire.

“Hi,” Hermione said, awkwardly as she hugged her baggy jumper. “I, um, I’m still wearing my pyjamas.”

Draco shrugged,

“I’ve seen you in less.”

Hermione blushed but set her jaw in a determined frown. She exited the bathroom and padded towards him. She was wearing a baggy blue jumper and red flannel shorts covered in black cats, they were cute but not exactly the height of fashion.

“You’re early,” Hermione said in her defence.

Draco smirked at her and nodded to the table where a giant fry up was waiting. There was also a platter of fruit and a steaming teapot.

“Ooh.” Hermione sighed, forgetting Draco and scrambling into a seat at the table.

Draco snorted at her as she piled eggs onto thick, buttered pieces of toast and poured herself some tea. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to say anything but instead, he just tugged the teapot away from her and poured his own.

Hermione munched happily on her breakfast, she usually settled for toast in the morning, there wasn’t the time for a full breakfast. It was just too much mess for one person to clean up anyhow.

“Where’s Misty?” Hermione mumbled as she tried to swallow. “And how can she enter my flat uninvited?”

Draco bit into sausage and chewed before replying.

“Despite being free, Misty’s retained the magic that ties her to the Malfoy family. It’s how she can navigate the wards at Malfoy Manor.”

Hermione frowned,

“But I’m not a Malfoy.”

“Have you reset your wards recently?” He asked, looking around the flat as if he could see her protective layers of magic.

Hermione nodded, stabbing at a piece of bacon. She noted there were no mushrooms included on her plate, something her sensitive nose was incredibly grateful for.

“I do it every month.” She informed him.

Draco grunted, frowning a little into his teacup.

“I’m not sure about this,” he said hesitantly, “but my best guess is that Misty can enter because at least part of you is now Malfoy. She can sense the magic and convince it you are part of her house. House-elf magic is tricky compared to human magic.”

Hermione frowned. A little bit Malfoy. She wasn’t a little bit… _oh_. She may not be a Malfoy but what was growing in her womb was.

“Merlin.” She said in a hushed voice.

Draco licked his lips,

“You could try calling her.” He said. “If you are included in the Malfoy bonds now, or at least the Speck is, she’ll come.”

Hermione frowned,

“You said she’s free. Why would she have to come?”

“She doesn’t have to come. My guess the bond is so small that she could ignore it if she wanted, but I doubt she will. As for being free, she is. I freed her; however, I don’t think she’s ever really accepted it, and she is still able to tap into that magic. Again, elf magic is different. I could have cast her out when I freed her, but that would mean she could never work for the Malfoy family again.”

Hermione grunted. She wished all house-elves would want to be free, to understand how terrible their slavery was, but some were genuinely terrified that they would lose their wizarding families. Most of them had been with them for generations and didn’t know any better. Hermione could realistically only promote that elves be freed so that they could choose to leave if they wanted, and compensated fairly.

The change was slow, but with the help of W.O.F., a few minor regulations had been pushed through the Ministry. Not enough but the start of something with potential. Hermione had never planned on engaging a house-elf for her home, but she didn’t want to cast one out that seemed so determined to help her.

“Misty.” She said clearly.

There was a small crack and a very small house-elf appeared at her side.

“Mistress is calling Misty.” The house-elf squeaked happily, ears waving as she bowed low.

“Misty, I am not your mistress.” Hermione said, “Draco and I are not, uh, together.”

Wasn’t that the whole intention of the morning? To determine if they would be. Hermione gulped; she knew what she had decided on the matter. Misty’s ears didn’t stop dancing as she stared up at Hermione with big brown eyes and said,

“No, not by rings but Mistress is carrying Malfoy blood. Misty knows.” Her mouth split into a giant grin and she pulled a small piece of knitting from out of the pocket of her polka dot dress. “Misty has been making the young Malfoy booties, for when the young Malfoy arrives.”

Misty handed the tiny pieces of clothing, and Hermione took them gently out of her hands.

“Thank you.” Hermione's voice sounded chocked, and she struggled to hold back the tears. “Please call me Hermione, Misty.”

The elf nodded, but Hermione was staring at the tiny booties in her hand. She felt the tears welling in her eyes, but she couldn’t stop them. She didn’t even know why she was crying but looking down at the little shoes she was overcome by emotions. _Curse you, hormones_.

Draco seemed to sense her mood change and nodded to Misty,

“Thank you, Misty. That will be all.”

Hermione looked at the minuscule shoes in her hands. They were so small. So tiny. So tiny and fragile and small.

“Granger,” Draco said warningly.

Hermione looked up at him, trying to pull herself together. Her chin shook. Merlin, she had no reason to cry. She didn’t want to cry. But the tiny shoes in her hands were so soft and so small. So very, very small.

“Alright, Granger,” Draco said, getting up and approaching her like she was a wild animal caught in a trap. He lifted the booties out of her hands. “I’m going to take the tiny shoes, and you’re not going to cry.”

Hearing him say ‘tiny shoes’ and seeing how much smaller they looked in his hand pushed her too far.

“Oh, gods.” She blubbered as tears streamed down her face. “They’re just so small.”

Draco sighed in defeat and rocked on his feet. He squatted in front of her chair until he was at Hermione’s eye level.

“What can I do?” He said, resigned to her tears.

“I don’t know!” Hermione wailed, she gestured at the wet trails forming on her cheeks. “Make them stop.”

She didn’t want to cry. She wasn’t sad, but the welling pressure in her chest forced more water out of her tear ducts. She looked as Draco put down the booties and wept; then she wept some more because she was weeping. Draco looked lost. He had no idea how to fix the clearly hormonal woman sobbing into her breakfast.

“Right.” Draco said, “That’s it.”

Hermione’s sobs were interrupted by a shocked gasp when Draco grabbed her under the arms, hauling her up right then, one hand under her knees, scooped her up and carried her across her flat.

She was dumped gently onto her sofa, and Draco proceeded to bury her under every blanket he could find. Once she sufficiently looked like a burrito, he walked behind the sofa where she couldn’t see him. A few moments later, he reappeared, carrying a large book.

“What-?” Hermione tried to ask, but Draco shushed her and dropped onto the sofa beside her.

He squished the blanket wrapped woman under his arm and showed her something. It was their ultrasound picture. Hermione took it from him, sniffling harder.

“This,” Draco said, “is the Speck.”

He pointed to the tiny little dot. Hermione looked at him like he was daft. Draco ignored her as he put something else in her hands.

“These,” he indicated to the little booties she now held, “will probably still be too big for him when he arrives.”

Hermione’s chinning wobbled, and she sobbed,

“Him?”

“Yes.” Draco said with a determined nod, “I’m pretty sure it’s a boy. Malfoy’s always have boys.”

Hermione blubbed, sniffling into her hand. Draco past her something else.

“That’s just a tissue.” He said, “Nothing to do with the Speck, just thought you might need one.”

Hermione sobbed into it too. _Damn._ She was now crying over a tissue. Draco was being so soft and gentle with her, bring her breakfast and letting her cry on him for no reason what so ever. She was a complete mess, and there he was just taking it all in his stride. Of all the different scenarios she had thought about before she’d told him she was pregnant none of them came even remotely close to how compassionate he was being now. She had to blow her nose into the tissue again as she thought about it, more tears welling in her eyes.

Draco lifted the book he’d carried over. He tapped the cover where the words _Hogwarts: A history_ were emboldened in gold. It was Hermione’s ancient copy, from when she had gone to the school. It had even accompanied them on their hunt for the Horcruxes, it’s cover looking all the worse for it.

“This is where the Speck is going to go to school.”

Hermione patted the page, and tears rolled her cheeks. Oh, gods, he would be so small then too. Only eleven. It was an eternity away, but one day she would be on the platform 9 and ¾ waving her son off as he went to the same school she had been, learning all the things she had been so desperate to discover at that age.

“Draco,” she moaned. “This isn’t going to stop me crying.”

“I know, we’re getting it out of your system.” He said, turning a page to an image of the Great Hall. “This is where the Speck will get sorted into Slytherin.”

Hermione blubbed but frowned at him.

“No.” She mumbled with a chin quiver and sniff. “He’ll be a Gryffindor.”

Draco snorted and rolled his eyes.

“There is no way my son is going to be a bleeding-heart Gryffindor.”

Hermione couldn’t help the pull of her lips and she smile-sobbed at Draco. Tears still on her face she hiccupped and said,

“Maybe he can be Ravenclaw.”

Draco wrinkled his nose.

“As long as he’s not a Hufflepuff. But I’m sure he’ll be Slytherin.”

Draco flicked through a few more pages, opening it on a picture of the Quidditch pitch.

“This is where he’ll play as a Seeker for Slytherin.” He said proudly.

Hermione gasped. Did he not remember the many time he and Harry had been dragged off the pitch to the hospital wing? Hermione certainly did, she’d seen so many injuries from the foul game. Between Harry, Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys, it seemed someone always had at least one scrap or bruise from falling off their broom.

“Draco, no!” She said sternly, “He is not going to play Quidditch, it’s so barbaric! I won’t allow my son to go galivanting around on those insane brooms.”

Draco shrugged, ignoring her protests and holding her tightly against his side as she squirmed under his arm.

“My son,” he said, “will be the best seeker there is. He’ll probably even beat Potter and his stupid ‘only first year on the team in 50 years’.”

Hermione scowled and shoved Draco’s shoulder as he lamented on how Harry wasn’t that good and that he’d only gotten onto the team for being the famous scar-head.

“Draco, stop!” Hermione laughed, as Draco mimicked Harry catching the snitch with his mouth.

Draco smirked at her.

“Have you finished crying yet?”

Hermione gave one last sniff, rubbing her nose with the tissue before realising that, yes, she had finally stopped blubbering like an idiot. She nodded at Draco, and he closed the book.

“Good.” He said, “Although I still stand by what I said, I think it’s a boy, and I know he’ll get into Slytherin.”

Hermione patted her book fondly; it had always been her favourite. Ever since she was a young girl, getting her first Hogwarts letter and finally understanding why she was so different from the other muggle children.

Now she would have her own child, one that would know his heritage and who would get to experience a magical upbringing. As much as Hermione was proud of being a muggleborn, she was often jealous of the things magical children got to experience. From the volume of knowledge to the everyday magic they were surrounded by. As much as she was scared, Hermione found she was also excited. She was excited to have this child, and she was, even more surprisingly, incredibly grateful for its father.

“Thank you.” She said, trying to shove her emotions aside before she started blubbering again. “For distracting me.”

Draco shrugged,

“I had selfish motives.” He said, “The crying is unnerving. I can take yelling and flirting and even the drunk Hermione, but the crying is too much.”

Hermione snorted, she was unnerved by it too. She hated not feeling in control of her body. She was only seven weeks pregnant, and already she was feeling the changes.

“Thanks, anyway,” Hermione said, now struggling out of the mound of blankets. “I, uh, should get dressed.”

Draco nodded, taking the ultrasound and the booties from her as she climbed off the sofa.

Pulling out some plain muggle clothing from the wardrobe in her bedroom Hermione headed to the bathroom once more to straighten her face and get out of her cosy pyjamas. The clothing, a simple pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a warm cardigan, were also relaxed. She had to spend the week in professional wizarding clothing, none of which was very comfortable. Hermione liked muggle clothing, it was less cumbersome, and there was more variation.

Hermione paused as she was putting on the t-shirt to look in the mirror. She eyed her belly; it was hardly anything, but she thought it looked the tiniest bit rounder than usual. She could have just been bloated, but still, every few days, Hermione found herself glancing at her reflection, wondering when she would look down and see the baby growing there. She shook her head, pulled her cardigan around her shoulders and went back to the sitting room. She was probably just imagining it anyway.

The mound of blankets had been cleared away, folded onto her armchair. Draco was lying on her sofa, the tiny booties on top of his chest as he read her Hogwarts book. The sight of him, relaxing so comfortably with the tiny reminder of their child almost made her burst into tears again.

She wanted to tease him, to tell him how adorable it looked to see him at ease with the situation. She had never imagined that he would be the one comforting her and telling her that one day their son would be in the world, playing quidditch and roaming the halls of Hogwarts as they had.

She went back to the sofa and shifted his legs so she could fit. Draco let them rest on her lap, and she smirked at his socks. He wore colourful socks. Hermione giggled and poked his toe.

Draco looked over his book and glared at her.

“What are you giggling about, Granger?” He asked.

She poked his socks again,

“These are cute.” She said. They were adorable with blue and yellow stripes with little grey arrows. She poked his big toe for a third time, making him wiggle them to escape her.

“They’re my Appleby Arrow’s socks.” He told her. Hermione frowned,

“That’s a quidditch team, right?”

Draco scoffed and slammed the book closed.

“A quidditch team? A quidditch team! Granger, they are the best quidditch team in the league!”

Hermione shrugged,

“I thought the Holyhead Harpies were the best.”

He narrowed his eyes at her,

“Clearly your head has been filled with nonsense by Ginevra.” He was clearly riled up about it, which just made Hermione laugh more.

“Ok.” She said, “If you say so.”

Draco rolled his eyes, and for a brief moment, he looked like he was about to set off on a persuasive speech addressing Hermione’s poor quidditch knowledge, but then he reconsidered. She had no interest in quidditch, and if seven years at Hogwarts didn’t sway her, nothing would.

Finally, they both lulled into silence. Despite how close they were, Draco’s feet draped in her lap and her hands resting on his ankles, the touch didn’t feel forced or awkward. She was comfortable around him, with him touching her. Presumably, it was because they had already slept with each other, but she still found it comforting. His body was warm and heavy, although she didn’t mind the weight. They sat around for a few minutes, enjoying the cosy atmosphere of the room. Finally, Hermione poked his toe again and said,

“So,”

He raised an eyebrow.

“So,”

Hermione felt a blush rising in her cheeks.

“So, uh,”

Draco smirked at her.

“You invited me here, Hermione. Is there something you want to discuss?”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. Obviously, there was something she wanted to discuss. They had agreed to take some time to separately to think about what they wanted.

Hermione had. She’d spent days thinking about it. Agonising over the decision while she poured through her baby books. Even though not one mentioned anything about how to manage the idea of co-parenting before a baby was born. A few of the more ‘modern’ books discussed divorce and how to raise children when you’ve separated from a spouse, but apparently, they still presumed that all people having babies would be a couple. Thanks, but what about those who indulged in a little too much fire whisky with a practical stranger?

Hermione sighed and looked at her hands.

She knew what she wanted.

And she knew what she should do.

They just didn’t match up. Every logical part of Hermione’s tremendous brain told her that she couldn’t just jump into a relationship with Draco. There was too much baggage between them from their childhood and from the war.

Unfortunately, every emotive part of Hermione’s body told her she should crawl into Draco’s arms and snog him until the sun went down. Whenever she was near him, she wanted to touch him, to have his arms wrap around her and they could just forget about all their problems in blissful caresses.

Hermione Granger prided herself on being a logical, rational woman. Even though this pregnancy was making her more and more emotional, she shoved the feelings down, locking them away so she could do what she believed was the right thing.

“I think,” she said, looking up at Draco’s face, “I think I was right last time.”

She watched him face carefully, trying to read any kind of emotion, but he kept it blank.

“Friends, you mean.” He said, voice as impassive as his face.

“Yes,” Hermione said, then thinking of the previous time she tried to hide her giddy smirk. “Actually friends. Not, uh… not like last time.”

Draco’s lips twisted into a matching smirk, clearly remembering what she was doing the last time she’d told him they would ‘just be friends’.

“So not friends who like to get into the others trousers?” He said, and Hermione thought she saw a hint of disappointment in his voice. She couldn’t blame him; she was regretting that too, but there was no way she could handle just being friends while being friends who like to shag every other day. Being with Draco, sexually, was too emotional, too intense for it not end up meaning something more.

“No.” she rolled her eyes at him. “Actual friends. Friends who don’t steal each other’s knickers.”

Draco snorted at her. She’d looked everywhere for the pair she’d been wearing the Friday in her office, but after numerous paranoid searches, she realised that they had gone, most likely into the pocket of Draco’s trousers.

“You’d rather I’d just left them on your desk for Betty the lunch lady to see?” He asked, a mirthless smirk on his face.

“No,” Hermione said, folding her arms. “But that doesn’t mean you should take them with you, I had to go the whole afternoon without any knickers under my skirt. I had to stand before the Wizenmagot with no bleeding knickers, Draco!”

Draco lifted one eyebrow, clearing enjoying himself immensely at her expense.

“I was under the impression you frequently went without undergarments. Or is it just on special occasions?”

Hermione blushed. She grabbed the cushion from behind her and smacked him squarely on the stomach, he grabbed it off of her easily, holding it above his head and restrained her wrist with the other hand.

“You’re a terribly violent witch, Granger.”

Hermione wiggled, trying to escape his grip and reach the cushion. She managed to get one knee underneath herself and leaned as far possible towards the cushion. Only a few more centimetres and she could snatch it from him. 

“And you’re a perverted panty thief, Malfoy.”

He snorted, and Hermione took the distraction to make her grab for the cushion. She pushed up the very moment Draco yanked her down, resulting in her launching forward over Draco’s legs and landing cushion in hand onto of the Slytherin.

“Ouff.” Draco groaned as Hermione’s elbow collided with his midsection.

“Ow,” Hermione mumbled, as her head smacked her own arm and Draco’s knee collided with her leg.

Draco groaned and rolled, shifting her, so she fell to the side of the sofa.

“I stand by my previous statement, Granger, you’re a bloody menace.”

“It’s your fault!” Hermione said, trying to extract her arm from under her body. “You pulled me.”

“You were trying to attack me with a cushion.”

“You were being a prat!” Hermione grumbled, trapped between the back of the sofa and Draco’s body.

“I thought I was a pervert?”

“You’re both.” She said, intensely aware that she could feel his body heat pressed against her in the small space.

“You’re the one staring at my crotch.” Draco snorted, and Hermione glared up at him. _Shit_. She was. In her defence, she was practically eye level with it. “You’re not planning on stealing my pants to get even are you?”

Hermione blushed, looking down and making eye contact with Draco’s crotch again. Blast it. She needed to move; this was a far to an intimate position. Not to mention awkward. _Gods_ , they were incapable of not circling back to sex.

This conversation was quickly derailing, Hermione cleared her throat. She gulped and struggled, sitting up and straightening her jumper.

“I, um…” she mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

Draco tensed, sensing her resistance.

“I was just kidding, Granger.” He said softly.

Hermione nodded, then frowned. She hadn’t meant to make it awkward, but she had no idea how to keep the barriers between friends and more-than-friends up when it came so effortlessly to watch his body and react to his words. Even his gentle teasing made something low in her stomach flutter nervously.

“I told you to call me Hermione.” She admonished him lightly.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“I thought that was only when we were shagging?”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“No, I said it was because we’d already slept together. Not because it was a continued occurrence.”

Draco shuffled on the sofa, pulling himself into a sitting position.

“Alright. Whatever you say, Hermione.”

He said it with the same purring voice she’d fallen for at the new year party. It made her insides melt and her heart pound. She looked at him, suddenly filled with the memories of every single time they’d snogged, and touched and…

Hermione bit her lip. She knew her pupils had dilated at the flood of memories, and if Draco’s eyes were any indication he had been remembering the same thing.

Hermione forced herself to look away. _Gods, it’s not that hard not to throw yourself across the sofa at someone._ _What’s wrong with you?_ Hermione cleared her throat and blinked rapidly, trying to dislodge the memories and get back to the real purpose of the day.

Looking back up, she noticed Draco frowning at the back of the sofa as if trying to do the same she had just done. Finally, he coughed, shuffled awkwardly and said,

“So, ah, how do we do this friend thing?”

Hermione thought for a moment. Clearly, they were having issues blurring the lines between friends and _friends_. They couldn’t let their apparent sexual chemistry cloud their real need to be amicable, civil friends. It wasn’t just their lives it affected now.

“We need a comprehensive set of rules,” Hermione decided.

Draco groaned, his head flopping back onto the sofa.

“Of course.” He groaned, “Only you, Hermione, would think being friends involves a plethora of rules and regulations.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose.

“Not a plethora.” She said with an eye roll. “Just a few basic ground rules.”

Draco grunted a very doubtful grunt. She was sorely tempted to hit him with another cushion but didn’t have one in reach. Hermione tried to read Draco’s expression, but sometimes the mask was too good. He could be incredibly expressive when he wanted to be, usually to mock and tease, but other time he was so carefully guarded.

“But,” she said, realising that she’d never really asked. “Do you agree? That it’s best, we’re just friends.”

Draco’s mask didn’t shift, giving pure neutrality as he calmly said,

“As you said, it’s for the best.”

Hermione let out a tiny sigh and nodded. She smiled softly, and Draco returned it, although a far more polite tight-lipped replica of his usual grins she’d gotten used to.

“Good.” She said, “Friends.”

“Yes.”

Hermione hesitated. She swallowed slowly. Friends. They were just friends. He just wanted to be friends. It was the right thing to do, even Draco agreed.

“So, these rules?” He asked.

“Oh, right,” Hermione said.

There was a tension in the air now, the light-hearted Draco seemed to have gone. She supposed it was good. They could concentrate on their task at hand without distracting each other. They couldn’t afford to slip back into shameless flirting.

“No sex.” Hermione said, “That’s rule number one, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“And um, rule two…” Hermione chewed her lip. She didn’t know what rule two was. She’d only decided on rules to stop them from sleeping together again when they’d both agreed just being friends was the right thing to do.

Draco raised an eyebrow and waited for her.

“Uh,” she stumbled, she couldn’t concentrate when he was just waiting for her in silence. She was used to, at least, mocking commentary. “Rule two…”

“Perhaps,” Draco interrupted her trailing murmurs, “we should stick with rule one for now. We can add to them later if need be.”

Hermione expected snark, or amusement or, at least, an eye roll. She got cold politeness. Bollocks, she scolded herself, what did she want? They couldn’t just continue to flirt shamelessly while agreeing not to be together.

_You wanted this. You agreed to this. You proposed this._

“Right.” She said, “That sounds like a good plan.”

A redundant sentence, she thought, now she just sounded like an idiot.

“Right.” Draco agreed. “If that’s all?”

“Oh,” Hermione said, “Yes. I suppose so. For now.”

“I should be going then,” Draco said, dusting his trousers and rising from the sofa.

Hermione nodded, there was no reason for him to stay. She’d thought he might. They could talk or watch telly or eat more of the giant mountain of food Misty had prepared.

Draco slipped his shoes on while Hermione stared docility at her feet.

“I…” he paused, looking uncertain. Hermione looked up at him, and for a split second, she thought he might dip and kiss her cheek like he had done before at St Mungo’s. The moment wilted as his grey eyes fixated at a point beyond her head and he tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves while he spoke.

“You’ll keep me updated then?”

“Yes.” Hermione murmured quietly.

“Very good.” He nodded to her and walked to the floo.

Hermione turned on the sofa, mouth opening to say something that she hadn’t even wrapped her brain around but he was gone, stepping into the green flames.

Hermione gulped and bit back the lump that settled in her throat.

If this was the right thing to do, then why did it feel so bad?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry  
> *Runs away*
> 
> Ok but seriously, Hi! How are you all?  
> Happy Sunday, hope everyone had a good weekend, don't break any hearts, ok?  
> Next chapter will be up on Tuesday or Wednesday 💙  
> Nif.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione glared at the letter on her desk. Neat scrawl under the perfect Malfoy Industries letterhead. Perfectly cordial, perfectly genial, perfectly friendly. Perfectly unlike _her_ Draco.

Except there wasn’t a _her_ Draco. They were just friends. _Her_ Draco was the man that had shoved her skirt up on the very desk she sat at now and whispered filthy words into her ear. She’d told him she didn’t want that Draco.

But bollocks it all, she didn’t want this cold, formal ‘friend’ she’d obtained. He wrote to her every day, his owl Apollo, delivered it like clockwork at 11:30. He asked for an update on her condition, ignored every attempt she’d made to converse normally or invite him to her flat, and not once had he teased, insulted, or flirted with her. She missed it. This didn’t feel like friends. This felt… crap. It definitely felt like crap.

She hated this Draco. Malfoy. Actually, this was the cold, hard Malfoy she’d always expected to find in the man. Not the light, warm man she’d come to know.

Who knew agreeing to be friends and getting to know each other meant this? It felt she’d lost a friend and gained an unwilling business partner. They couldn’t have been colder unless they were communicating through lawyers.

Hermione bit her lip and balled the letter. She threw it across the wall and watched with satisfaction as it rolled across the floor. Apollo, enjoying his piece of her lunch, hooted at her reproachfully.

“He’s your human.” Hermione said, “Is he always this much of a git?”

Another low hoot.

“Thought so,” Hermione muttered to herself.

She didn’t bother replying. She was sick of writing the same ‘I’m doing well, everything is fine, how are you?’ letter every day. It had been over a week, but there was little Hermione wanted to report to Draco than that morning sickness was in full swing. Every morning at seven, like clockwork, she woke and ran to the bathroom to empty her stomach. It was a miserable way to start the day, and she didn’t need Draco checking in on her if it was just going to be same plain, robotic questions.

Between the morning sickness, still sore breasts, being constantly tired and now with Draco’s cold contact, Hermione’s mood had become volatile. The hormones didn’t help either, she wanted to cry and yell and curse and cuddle; all of which she couldn’t do with Draco avoiding her and W.O.F. piling work onto her like she was capable of carrying the entire company on her back. People had begun avoiding her unless strictly necessary as she snapped and growled at anyone remotely stupid enough to bother her. Hermione knew it wasn’t her co-workers’ fault, she was a hormonal wreck, and the disaster of trying to be friends with Draco had caused hadn’t helped. She’d taken to locking herself away in her office just to survive it all.

Apollo, perched on the top of her bookcase again, ruffled his feathers and tucked his head away for a nap. She didn’t know if it was because he’d been instructed to await a reply or just because, like her, he was sick of Draco and his pretentious attitude.

Hermione flicked her wand, sending the balled letter into the bin and forcing herself to concentrate on the mountain of paperwork on her desk.

* * *

At 5:15, Hermione shooed Apollo out of her window, the owl glaring indignantly at her as he reluctantly swooped away, still without a reply.

Hermione began packing her things, she’d locked herself away for the remainder of the afternoon and had actually made decent progress on her paperwork. A tapped came from her window, and Hermione let out a huff.

“Apollo, I don’t have-”

She stopped; a small tawny owl flapped outside her window. She threw open the window, and the round-eyed creature dropped a small piece of parchment on her desk before settling in Apollo’s preferred place.

Hermione reached up, gently petting the little thing atop the head. Its silky feathers fluffing once she stopped and collected the note.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_I’m instructing Pepper to check for you at your office; first, I’ll bet you haven’t left yet. It’s been forever since we went out, and high time to rectify this._

_If you’re feeling up to it, meet me at the Leaky at 5:30? Send Pepper back with a response if you can’t make it._

_I miss you, darling._

_Padma._

Hermione looked up at the little owl.

“Pepper?”

The small thing hooted at her happily, making Hermione snort. Most likely she was a new owl for the Department of International Magical Cooperation where Padma worked. Padma spent too much time travelling in and out of the country to own her own animal. Something which she lamented on regularly.

It had been their shared love of pets that reunited them after Hogwarts. Hermione had known Parvati reasonably well, as well as she cared to at least, but she’d never had much of a chance to get to know Padma away from her twin and Lavender.

Hermione had been taking Crookshanks to the Magical Menagerie when he’d spontaneously started sneezing bubbles to be treated by their carer. He’d been less than pleased to see the shop but to Hermione’s surprised he’d allowed Padma, who had been fondly staring at the kneazle kittens, to scratch behind his ears. They’d begun talking regularly after that, and their Wednesday tradition of dinner and a drink at the Leaky had started once Hermione had realised Padma was a far stretch from her sister’s copy.

Hermione looked down at the note. She wasn’t sure about going. Hermione didn’t have an excuse not to go, but she’d been looking forward to going home and taking a long hot bath. She looked up at the little owl.

“What do you think, Pepper?”

The owl hooted again, but it wasn’t looking at her this time; instead, it looked out the open window. Hermione frowned and was about to step forward when another owl swooped in.

“Blimey,” Hermione said as the owl dropped a piece of parchment to her. Her office had become a bloody owlery.

Pepper hooted at the larger owl, who hooted back before taking off and departing out of the window once more.

Hermione opened the second note.

_‘Mione,_

_I’m not exactly sure if this is news you want to hear, but I thought you should hear it from me and not the Prophet. No doubt they’ll have caught wind by the morning._

_Lavender has gone into labour; Ron came to our cottage panicking about her water breaking. Ginny’s had to go with him to get Lav to St Mungo’s._

_You know I love you, let me know if you need anything._

_Harry._

Hermione let out a groan, then a snort. Lavender was delivering early. How terribly shocking.

Hermione picked up the note from Padma again. Yes, she’d be going. She needed a stiff drink and a good whine about this.

* * *

It wasn’t until Hermione had met with Padma and gotten to the bar to remember that she couldn’t drink. _Bollocks_. One baby was driving her to drink, and another was preventing her. It wasn’t fair.

Thankfully Hermione had offered to get the first-round while Padma found a table. Hermione ordered one Odgen’s Firewhisky for Padma and reluctantly ordered a Gillywater for herself.

As she collected the glasses, she spotted Padma waving from the corner, leaning into view from a booth seat.

“Thank heavens!” Padma grinned as Hermione handed her the glass of fire whisky. “You have no idea the kind of day I’ve had.”

Hermione laughed, wishing she too could enjoy a glass of alcohol after the news she’d just gotten.

“Tell me everything.” Hermione insisted as Padma sipped on her drink.

Hermione might have issues of her own, but that didn’t mean she minded hearing about Padma’s problems. Having listened to stories that had come out of the Department of Magical Cooperation before she was more than happy to sink into her seat as Padma let out a dramatic sigh.

“Ok.” Padma said, hands already beginning to wave dramatically as she spoke, “You remember Dickens, right? He’s the one with the uncle in France who…”

Hermione nodded, smiled and laughed as Padma continued on. Hermione was, as usual, forbidden from telling anyone in case of a magical international scandal, as Padma proceeded to explain her day. It had involved a magical diplomat, several bottles of Giggle water, and an _engorgio_ charm gone wrong. Padma had spent the entire week trying to clean up the mess. Well, not the actual mess, just the potential political fallout if it got back to the diplomat’s embassy.

Hermione suddenly felt so much better about her own life.

“…I finally managed to get him to put his pants back on, but I swear, Hermione, I was so close to leaving him there, cheeks to the wind or not. How are men so incredibly daft?”

Hermione choked on her drink,

“I’ve no idea, Pads, but I don’t think you’re dealing with normal men. That is insane.”

Padma lifted her eyebrows.

“And these are the people we trust to run countries.”

Hermione cringed as Padma drank the last of glass and sighed.

“Tell you what,” she said smiling, “I’m going to pop to the loo, then I’ll grab us another round and then you can tell me all about your week.”

“Ah,” Hermione looked down at her clear drink. It looked like several alcoholic drinks at the bar, and although Padma probably wouldn’t ask, Hermione didn’t want to risk having to explain why she wasn’t able to drink alcohol. After all, Hermione had never held back on their usual Wednesday night drinks before. “You go to the loo, and I’ll grab this round.”

Padma frowned,

“You just got the last round.”

“It’s alright.” Hermione said, “I think I owe you one from last time.”

It took a bit more convincing, and a promise that Padma would get the next two rounds before Hermione slid from the table and headed to the bar. The usual robed workers were sitting around there for an after-work drink before heading home as well as a few people enjoying a casual dinner from the limited menu, but the pub was reasonably quiet. It still took Hermione a couple of minutes to get served, something not unusual for the slow-paced pub. Padma, on her way back from the toilets, waved at Hermione, letting her know she was back at the table just as Hermione collected their drinks.

“Well, if it isn’t the witch of the hour, Hermione Granger.” A smooth voice said from behind her.

It stopped Hermione dead in her tracks. _Bollocks_. She’d been hoping to have an evening without any Slytherins.

“Blaise.” She said, giving a curt nod as she turned to face him. “How are you?”

Blaise looked tired. Something she had never expected to see on the exuberant wizard.

“Well,” he said, “I almost got fired four times today. Which is one more than yesterday but one less than Monday, so I suppose-”

“Blaise?” Hermione said, shaking her head and interrupting his speech. “What are you talking about?”

Blaise scanned her face with a frown.

“I’m talking about my incredibly pissed off best friend and boss.”

“Draco?” Hermione asked again, still lost.

Draco wouldn’t fire Blaise, would he? The man seemed to single-handedly keep Draco in line at their public events. Blaise oversaw the public relations of Malfoy Industries. From how impressive their public image was Hermione presumed, Blaise was doing a pretty bang-up job. From Death Eater owned failing company to adored public influence both Draco and Malfoy Industries had come a very long way in barely five years.

“Yes,” Blaise replied, looking at her irritably. “What did you do to him this time?”

Hermione shook her head.

“Nothing.” She said, “We’ve been… perfectly amicable since Sunday.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow but seemed to realise Hermione’s confusion was genuine. Draco hadn’t been annoyed at her. He’d been curt with his letters, but he hadn’t seemed angry. Cold and business-like but still concerned at her state. Blaise let out a huff of air.

“Well, if Draco isn’t annoyed with you why has he been in a snit all bloody week?” Hermione could only shrug. “Do you have any idea how many drinks I had to promise him to get him to come out tonight?”

Hermione gulped.

“Draco’s here?”

 _Bollocks_. That was the last thing Hermione needed. Hermione looked past Blaise, glancing nervously around the pub. She found Draco quickly enough, the pale blonde hair a clear marker in the dark atmosphere.

He was leaning against a walk talking to a slim brunette woman in gorgeous deep purple robes. Astoria, Hermione remembered her from Hogwarts, Astoria Greengrass. She had grown into an incredibly beautiful woman. She had long, delicate legs and silky brown hair that bounced around her shoulders as she laughed at something Draco had said. Draco, glass in hand, looking relaxed in her presence. He smiled, a genuine twitch of amusement pulling at his lips and Astoria playful pushed against his arm.

“Tori’s distracted him now, thank Merlin.” Blaise muttered, “Plus I managed to get a few drinks into him, so he’s finally stopped snapping at anything that moves.”

Hermione nodded slowly. _Tori_. Well, Astoria certainly did seem to have him distracted now. He appeared to be in a good mood around the witch. He was laughing. He said something and Astoria lent back, head tipped as she wiped a tear away and clutched her side, giggling at whatever Draco had just said.

They looked content together. They looked good together. A painfully, perfect Pureblood pair. _Eugh_ , Hermione thought, they even alliterated well.

Hermione’s stomach clenched, an acidic bubbling of annoyance, jealousy and regret that, try as she might, wouldn’t be shoved down and ignored. He was having a good time with Astoria, teasing and laughing- everything that she hadn’t had from him in days. Their interactions had been transactional and aloof ever since Hermione had told him they couldn’t sleep together. It had been over like a switch, enjoying each others company one minute then he couldn’t get out of her flat fast enough.

Was that it? She wasn’t going to spread her leg, so Draco had gone elsewhere to get his fix? She’d taken away the only thing they had so far been good at, and he’d completely cut himself off.

Despite everything that had happened, Hermione had forgotten just how often she’d read articles about Draco and his many dates. Ginny had called him the Lothario of Britain, and she hadn’t been wrong. Draco Malfoy was a well-known catch. Wealthy, powerful, the sole heir of a Pureblood name and of course, being painfully handsome helped. Except no one had ever come close to securing a long-term relationship with him, at least not one that the Prophet had ever reported.

Perhaps _Tori_ could sway him, she was a proper Pureblood woman after all. Hermione bit her tongue, hating the bitter thoughts pushing their way into her head. She turned back to Blaise, trying not to wince as she heard Astoria laugh from across the room. Hermione realised she hadn’t been listening to a word coming out of the wizard’s mouth.

“Blaise,” she interrupted, looking at the glasses in her hands. “I, ah… I need to get back to my friend. Sorry.”

Hermione didn’t look up at the concerned wizard as she walked away. She slunk between patrons until she reached the back table. She sagged into the seat across from Padma, reluctant as she pushed the glass of Firewhisky to her friend.

“Hermione, are you alright?” Padma asked, looking up and noting the change in Hermione’s demeanour. She’d left for the bar feeling brilliant, talking to Padma usually cheered her but her return came with a sour, pinched face and eyes that rapidly blinked away tears.

“Yeah.” Hermione muttered into her unsatisfactory Gillywater, “I’m fine, Padma.”

Even her voice didn’t sound fine, it was gravely and choked. She sipped her drink, trying to calm herself.

She didn’t have any right to be angry. Not really. She’d told Draco she wanted to be friends. Just friends. So why shouldn’t he flirt with Astoria, she was obviously a beautiful woman. Draco had every right and every reason to enjoy Astoria. They would court, get engaged, do all the proper things society demanded of them, get married and have a beautiful perfect Pureblood baby. All the while, Hermione and her child would be the mistake. The Mudblood and her little half-blood baby.

“Are you sure?” Padma said, breaking Hermione’s concentration. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine. Just tired.” Hermione grumbled, trying to clear her head.

 _Gods_ , what was she doing? She was completely losing all sense of reality on the situation. She’d seen Draco talking to a woman, a woman he had every right to speak to, and she was sitting there completely losing her mind. She’d already planned the next ten years of their lives just of a few seconds of seeing a shared conversation.

Hermione wasn’t sure who she was more annoyed at. Herself or Draco. Padma nodded, letting Hermione stew over her glass of Gillywater. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while, Padma trying to catch Hermione’s eye. Padma sighed,

“Hermione.”

“Yeah?” Hermione didn’t look up from her glass.

“I heard something on the way back from the loo. About Lavender?”

“What?” Hermione frowned; she’d completely forgotten. “Oh, right. She’s at St Mungo’s.”

“Is that why you’re upset?” Padma asked.

Hermione shrugged. She supposed that was what she should be upset about. Her ex-husband's new girlfriend was giving birth to his child, less than eight months after their supposedly amicable break-up. She should be furious that there was a woman giving birth to a child conceived to a man who was her husband at the time. The clawing jealous creature in her stomach didn’t seem to care about Ron and less-than-subtle his affair. Evident as it had always been Hermione knew this should be a definitive moment- confirmation that all their denial about when their baby was conceived was bollocks, evidence that Hermione wasn’t the only one sharing Ron’s bed for a long time before their divorce.

Hermione sighed. She couldn’t even bring herself to be angry at Ron. She hoped he was happy and their baby was born health. The jealous critter in her was clawing at her chest but not for any Weasley. No, it howled for Hermione to march up to the father of her child and slap him. Or snog him. She wasn’t sure.

But. Hermione was the one who had said they should be friends. She had decided they shouldn’t have sex. _I didn’t know that meant he was going to jump into the bed of the next awaiting women_ , hissed an angry little voice in her head. Hermione glared at the table in front of her. She’d wanted to be friends with Draco, but apparently, that wasn’t possible. So far, he seemed to only like her when they were shagging.

“Men,” Hermione spat, “are arrogant, ungrateful, pretentious arseholes.”

She was surprised at her own outburst. She’d clenched her hands around her glass and let out the first words that came to her lips. It made her feel a little better. Padma, across from her, lifted her head. Her eyebrows raised in shock but her lips twitched in amusement.

“That’s it.” She said, sitting up. “Get it out, Hermione.”

Padma thought she was talking about Ronald, but Hermione knew precisely who she was directing the speech too when she glared at the wood of the table and started to speak.

“You know what Pads?” Hermione said while Padma nodded encouragingly, “Men are by far the stupidest creature I have ever come across.”

Padma giggled and nodded.

“They think they can just swan around with their hair and their muscles and we’ll all just fall over ourselves trying to make them happy…”

Hermione continued, jabbing a finger as she rambled angrily. Padma was grinning, interjecting in agreement when she could. Hermione, after a good few minutes of ranting, leant back.

“Alright.” She said, sounding calmer. “I feel a bit better now. Thank you.”

Padma reached across the table and patted her hand. She was smiling, but her eyes still held a little bit of pity. Hermione didn’t like it, mostly because Padma didn’t even know the half of it.

“Good evening, ladies. Hope we’re not interrupting an intimate moment.” Blaise swooped in on them, drink in one hand and Malfoy trailing at his heels.

“Zabini,” Padma said, taking her hand back from Hermione and shooting Blaise a small glare, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Blaise replied, but Hermione wasn’t listening. She was trying to ignore the presence next to her, looming over her right shoulder.

“Granger.” Draco purred, clearly a few drinks away from sober.

“Malfoy.” She muttered through gritted teeth. She refused to look up; instead, she focused her glare on one ice cube floating innocently in her drink.

“I was hoping I could borrow you,” Draco said, leaning against the back of the seating.

“Why?” Hermione was sure the ice cube would melt under her intense gaze.

Draco hesitated, clearly, he wanted to talk to her about something, probably not in front of Padma. Blaise, somehow managing to wiggle himself into Padma’s good graces, was already settling himself into the booth next to the witch. Although they spoke to one another lightly, Hermione could feel the curious glances of both Blaise and Padma.

“I was hoping to discuss Malfoy Industries upcoming donation to W.O.F.” Draco tried again.

 _Bollocks_ , Hermione cursed to herself again. He knew the exact strings to pull with her. She could ignore him for her own satisfaction but not over her job—s _neaky bastard._

“Fine.” She snapped. “Padma I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

Padma nodded, watching as she slid out of the seat and followed after Draco, clearly still in a huff.

Draco led Hermione to an empty corner near the front of the pub. It was dark and quiet. Hermione folded her arms against her chest and waited. If he wanted to talk, he could talk. She wasn’t going to be the first one to make a move.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Draco said, and Hermione tried not to roll her eyes.

“Does it matter?” Blimey, she sounded like a brat even to her own ears.

Draco frowned down at her. Hermione still refused to look up and meet his eyes, she glared at his top button, just above eye level for herself.

“You didn’t reply to my letter today.” He stated, not questioned as if scolding an irresponsible toddler.

Hermione did roll her eyes this time, refocusing on the wood grain of the wall when Draco’s chest became too distracting. She didn’t want to look at him, she didn’t want to have to look into those eyes while she pretended not to be fazed by him flirting with another woman across the room.

Hermione was sure he only came to talk to her because of Blaise; obviously, the wizard had warned Draco that she was there. She bit her lip wondering if Draco would have taken Astoria home if she hadn’t been. Maybe he was still planning too. Or maybe, dignified women like Astoria didn’t go home with a man after a few drinks. She probably even wore knickers under all her dresses.

“Just read the response from yesterday, it’ll be the same.” She muttered darkly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco growled, folding his own arms and leaning closer to her.

Hermione let out an annoyed huff. She finally looked up; eyes narrowing. How dare he take that tone with her, what did he have to be annoyed about?

“I don’t need you to check on me every day.” She snapped, “I’m not some invalid you have to look after.”

Draco flinched back at her words.

“You’re annoyed at me for caring?” He snapped, his face turning up into a sneer to match her own.

“No.” Hermione said, “I’m not.”

She was annoyed because his ‘caring’ was like a concerned customer, writing her daily to ensure his accidental order was still progressing on schedule. Hermione was annoyed because she’d thought she was doing the right thing when she told him she wanted to be friends. She was annoyed because Draco had gone from someone she craved being around to a cold, hard stranger the second sex was off the table.

She was annoyed because she missed the Draco she’d barely even known for a week. The man who got her sandwiches and breakfast and wore colourful socks. She missed with playful letter writer and nosey elf house; she missed the flirting and teasing. She was annoyed because she missed _that_ man. And she was annoyed _that_ she missed him.

“Well, you’re clearly annoyed at me about something,” Draco said, rubbing his brow.

“Not everything is about you, Malfoy.” Hermione hissed.

Except it was, of course. His Manor. His fire whisky. His sex. His baby. His friendship. His dismissal of her. To make it all that much worse, Hermione had, just over two weeks ago, been prepared to go through this pregnancy alone. She’d prepared herself to be rejected by Draco and raise a child as a single mother. Hermione’d known it was a possibility. She’d even offered him an out. Yet Draco had insisted he wanted to be there. So, she’d begun to depend on him. Less than a week later he’s promised her regardless of whether they liked each other or not he’d be there for their child. She’d thought that despite the mess Draco was a good man.

Then she’d taken away sex, and he’d cut her out. He’d kept his promise about being there for the child but, damn it, Hermione hadn’t been prepared for how much it hurt.

“This certainly seems to be.” Draco snapped.

“Look,” Hermione said, waving a hand and trying to dismiss the conversation. “I don’t want to do this with you right now. Padma will be waiting for me, and you’ve _clearly_ got someone waiting for you. Why don’t you go enjoy yourself and I’ll-”

Draco cut her off with a derisive snort, his eyebrows lifting.

“You’re pissed off because I’m talking to Astoria, aren’t you?” He said.

“No!” Hermione lied, her voice going shrill as it always did when she was caught out. “It certainly seemed like more than just talking from where I was standing.”

Draco smirked, as Hermione bit down on her lip. _Shit_. She shouldn’t have said that.

“You are.” He scoffed. “You’re annoyed because you think I was flirting with another woman.”

“I am not!” Hermione moved as she hissed at him, trying to shuffle away from him.

“You were the one who wanted to be friends, Hermione.” Draco shifted, his larger frame blocking her. “Friends, remember. We had one rule: no sex.”

“I know what I said!” She spat back, hating to be lectured.

“So why are you angry if I’m talking to someone else?” Draco threw one arm out, clearly losing his temper and composure in a very un-Malfoy like manner.

“I’m not!” Hermione “It’s just that-” _You’re over there trying to get into another woman’s pants while I’m the one pregnant with your child._

Hermione bit her tongue, not daring herself to say the rest of her thought. Draco, however, looked furious. He crossed his arms defensively across his chest and sneered down at her from his nose.

“What, Granger?” He said, “Just spit it out.”

Hermione glared at him. She knew she should just walk away. Hermione needed to cool down before she said something just to be spiteful. She wanted him to hurt, to know what it was like. Despite her better judgement, she crossed her own arms against her chest.

“Astoria?” Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Of all the people, she’s… She’s just so-”

“What?” Draco growled, uncrossing his arms and taking a menacing step towards her. Hermione stood her ground as he hissed, “Slytherin? Pureblood? Wealthy? Tell me what’s so wrong with Astoria, Hermione? I’ll remind you that I am all those things and you had no issue crawling into bed with me-“

“I was going to say young!” Hermione snapped, looking around briefly to ensure no one was trying to listen in on their conversation.

 _Liar_ , hissed her brain. She wasn’t going to say young. Hermione had meant perfect, or gorgeous, or dignified, or… not her. She couldn’t admit to that, however, so she’d found the first thing to come to her mind and tried to hide behind it ineffectually.

Draco scoffed, eyes blazing as she glared back at him.

“She’s was only two grades below us at Hogwarts.” He said, “I’ll have you know if my father hadn’t have gone to Azkaban, I would have married Astoria.”

Hermione opened her mouth but stopped, his words biting like a slap to the face. _Oh_ , she thought, he didn’t just want to sleep with Astoria. What was she meant to say to sort of a statement?

Draco had made it clear. He would rather be with Astoria. Hermione bit her lip and looked away, trying to stop the painful hole in her chest. She felt like she’d be punched in the gut, Draco’s declaration making it clear that she was an inconvenient complication on his path to a real woman.

Draco was entirely within his right to go after Astoria, she reminded herself, he’d even offered to do the ‘right thing’ when he found out she was pregnant. Still, it hurt knowing how relieved he must have been when she said she only wanted to be friends. She knew he was free to pursue other women if he wished to but gods, she hadn’t expected how much it would hurt to hear the words coming out of his mouth. Why was he even bothering to play house with her if he’d intended to secure himself a pretty Pureblood wife?

Hermione backed away a few steps. She couldn’t hand this, not now, not with the painful push of hormone fuelled tears building at his words. Her eyes pricked, and Hermione could feel the burn of tears building. She tried to push them back. Hormones, it was just her stupid hormones. She tried to convince herself, but it was too much. It wasn’t hormones that were ripping her apart.

Draco’s face dropped, watching her attempt at composure.

“Hermione,” he whispered softly, reaching out an arm to her, “Gods, Hermione, I-”

“Don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Just don’t, Draco.”

She knew his words of sympathy would only hurt more. Hermione walked away, desperately hoping he wouldn’t follow her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, Sorry! I wasn't meant to leave this chapter on another angsty cliffhanger but it just ended up being far too long. I'll try and get the next chapter on Friday so you don't have to wait too long.  
> I also just wanted to say thank you again to everyone who'd commented or left kudos- you're all amazing! I never expected the amount of readers this fic has gathered, I've seen a lot of names pop up multiple times and I justed to let you know I adore you all. You make writing and posting all the more fun.  
> My slightly sadistic side also revelled in the number of paragraph comments I received on the last chapter while you raged at Hermione, sorry, I promise she'll sort herself out sometime soon. There's a lot of emotions for both of them to work through right now.  
> See you on Friday,  
> Nif.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Happy Friday, or happy last twenty-four minutes of Friday. Technically still Friday, right?  
> Again, I apologise for having to leave you on the cliffhanger last time, it wasn't actually my intention but the last chapter was 5k words, this is 8k and I've put another 1.5k onto the start of the next. Also, I know there have been a few people annoyed by Draco's behaviour, and while I won't say it's perfect, try to remember we're only getting Hermione's view in this story. Draco is going through his own personal rollercoaster of emotions and trying to deal with that.  
> Hope you enjoy,  
> Nif.

* * *

Hermione’s eyes burned with tears, and she tried to sniff them back as she slipped through the bar towards the bathrooms. Vaguely, Hermione was aware when she passed Padma at their table, looking completely confused as Blaise prattled on about something.

“Hermione?” Her friend cried after her as Hermione rushed to the safety of the empty back corridor. A tear slipped down her cheeks as she pushed open the door, leading to the back passage and further down, the toilets.

When she pushed through the doorway, the corridor was mercifully empty. A broken sob echoed through the stuffy pub air. Hermione stuffed a hand against her mouth as the door opened again, she prayed whoever it was would just ignore her.

“Hermione.” Padma’s soft voice said as she turned her and allowed Hermione to bury herself in her jacket. “Gods, what’s happened?”

Padma wrapped her arms around Hermione as the witch sobbed into her shoulder, hair tumbling over and covering her face.

“What did he do?” Blaise, who Hermione hadn’t notice accompanying Padma, growled.

“What’s going on?” Padma asked again, genuine nervous concern showing as she was so clearly out of the loop on the situation.

Hermione could only gasp out another broken noise and shake her head. She couldn’t form words. She could only hope that her tears would fill the aching hole in her chest.

Blaise clenched a fist,

“Right.” He said, “Padma stay with her, I have to murder a git.”

Padma nodded, not sure what on earth else she was meant to do. She patted Hermione’s shoulder gently, hugging her tight until the sobs rocked into small hiccups and Hermione’s eyes went dry. After a good ten minutes, Hermione pulled her head back and sniffed into her hand. Her whole face was damp, so she didn’t know why she bothered.

“Thank you.” She muttered, chin quivering when she realised Padma had no idea what she was crying about and Hermione didn’t even know where to begin in the whole mess.

She’d slept with Malfoy. She was pregnant with his child. They weren’t together. She’d told him she didn’t want to be together. She’d gotten annoyed the moment he’d paid attention to another woman, like a foolish woman she’d once sworn she wouldn’t become. He’d just told her he had wanted to marry Astoria. It was too much to unpack, and Hermione felt tears prick at her eyes again as she contemplated it. 

Padma plucked at a loose, damp curl of Hermione’s cheek and tucked it behind her ear.

“Are you ready to talk about it?” She asked gently. “Or would you like me to get you a tissue?”

Hermione’s lip pulled tensely at the idea of explaining her evening.

“Tissue, please.” She muttered, tears dripping down her cheeks again.

Padma nodded and tucked Hermione’s hand in her own. It was lucky they were there on a Wednesday evening. The toilets were empty when they entered, and Padma leant Hermione against the counter as she set to put her to rights.

She handed her tissues and had Hermione wash her face in the little sink before pulling out her wand and casting a few quick charms to dry Hermione’s hair and reduce the red puffy look around her eyes.

“Better?” Padma asked finally.

Hermione nodded, glancing in the mirror. She didn’t look good by any means, her eyes still a little red but her nose wasn’t dripping, and she didn’t look like she’d just sobbed into someone shoulder for a good ten minutes.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Blaise stuck his head in. Hermione sniffed and tried to smile at him. He smiled softly back at her.

“You alright?” He asked.

Hermione shrugged. She’d be fine, it didn’t mean she still wasn’t upset and hurt.

“Is he dead?” She grumbled instead of answering Blaise.

“Not quite.” Blaise smirked, “Got him with a real good bat-bogey hex.”

Hermione nodded slowly,

“I can live with that.” She murmured.

Blaise smiled again, then it faltered.

“He wants to talk to you.”

Hermione’s heart clenched, and she shook her head.

“No,” Hermione said firmly. “No, I don’t want to talk to him.”

Look, Hermione was a reasonable woman. She could accept that Draco might have had feelings for someone else, that he had intentions that had been derailed by their current predicament. However, in her current state and the mood Hermione had been in the past week, Hermione needed time to process. She knew, objectively, that she was the one to suggest being friends. She was also coming to the conclusion she may be harbouring some more-than-friends feelings towards Draco. Feelings that were very determined not to be quashed down, despite her best efforts.

Padma, who had been observing the conversation, finally interjected.

“Malfoy.” She said, not questioned.

Hermione nodded and sniffed.

“What did he do?” Padma placed a protective hand on Hermione’s arm. 

Hermione snorted. She wasn’t sure if she should give Padma the extended version, impregnation included, or just the simplified version.

“He’s an arse.” Simplified it is.

“While that is completely true,” Blaise said, still leaning into the doorframe of the women's bathroom. “He didn’t mean what he said, Hermione.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Really. He…” Blaise frowned, “It’s really not my place to explain, Hermione, just please, trust me.”

Hermione pursed her lips; she didn’t want to face Draco. She wanted to apparate home and eat a tub of ice-cream. Still, Hermione was going to have to pass through the pub to get to the floo. If Draco was out there, she would have to see him regardless. She might as well talk to him.

It’s not like she could ignore him forever. The Speck was making sure of that.

“Fine.” She said.

Blaise held the door open for them, and Hermione straightened herself before lifting her head and walking out of the bathroom. Padma, looking lost but concerned, quickly followed behind her.

Blaise opened the second door for them too, and Hermione found herself only a metre away from Draco, who apparently had decided to wait for them to emerge by leaning against the nearest booth.

“Hermione,” he said, looking up and seeing her.

He looked nervous and rather sheepish. He tried to reach for Hermione but she stiffened, and Padma gripped her hand, giving Draco a sharp look. _Merlin_. Hermione realised she was going to need to explain this to Padma somehow. She had taken it in her stride so far but the night had utterly turned to shambles, and somehow her friend was still there, protecting her from something she didn’t even understand.

Hermione would explain, but she needed to deal with Draco first.

“Padma,” Hermione said, gently patting the witch’s hand, “Could you give us a minute?”

Padma shot a glare at Draco.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

Hermione nodded,

“Why don’t you grab us some drinks and I promise I’ll explain everything later.”

Padma hesitated, and Blaise cleared his throat.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay with her.”

Hermione tried not to roll her eyes at his supposed gallantry. Padma didn’t look any more relieved, but finally, she nodded to Hermione and shot another stern glare at Draco.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Padma said, “but you hurt her again, Malfoy, and it won’t be your nose the bat bogeys come out of.”

Draco visibly gulped, and Padma, with a satisfied sniff, departed. The bar was mostly empty and the witch perched herself on a barstool, clearly giving them some time before she returned.

Hermione turned back to Draco. Her lips pinched, and she moved past him to sit at the table. She wasn’t going to do this standing in the middle of the pub, she was sure they had already caused enough trouble to be noticed and didn’t need anyone owling the Prophet that there had been a scene between them at the Leaky Cauldron.

Blaise, moving faster than Draco, slipped into the booth across from Hermione, shoving Draco’s shoulder towards Hermione and Draco grumbled as he took the hint. Hermione wasn’t sure she appreciated Blaise’s help. She’d wanted Draco seated across from her, not next to her.

“Well,” Blaise said, eyeing Draco irritably. “I got her here, now talk.”

Draco licked his lips nervously and looked at Hermione. She flicked her eyes away, not sure if she could maintain eye contact without crying again.

“Hermione,” Draco sighed, trying to take one of her hands.

Hermione flinched it back. She didn’t want his sympathy or his pity. It was bad enough he thought she needed to check in with her every single day, she didn’t need to know he pitied her too. She was knocked up, not broken.

“Blaise said you had something to say.” She growled, “So say it.”

Draco looked hurt, and she tried not to care.

“Hermione,” he started again, “I’m really- Damn it, Blaise I can’t do this when you’re sitting there staring at me.”

Blaise, watching them from across the table, shrugged.

“The lady wanted me here. I’m staying.”

Hermione was going to remind him that she’d never actually indicated she wanted him there but, to be honest, it was a little comforting. Draco grumbled, cursing Blaise but Hermione sighed. She pulled out a wand and flicked it,

“ _Muffliato,_ ” she said, and a soft buzzing filled the air. “He can’t hear us. Talk.”

She didn’t want to be there all night. If Draco was going to sit there and explain how he and Astoria were such a great couple, Hermione was going to bolt. And cry.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, glancing nervously at Blaise and then back at her. “What I said-”

Hermione glanced at her hands,

“You don’t have to apologise if you like Astoria.” Hermione said, “I-”

She’d quickly realised she might have overreacted while sobbing into Padma’s shoulder. Sure, it hurt like hell to hear how perfect Astoria was for marriage. It hurt to listen to the father of her child defend flirting right in front of her but, realistically, why shouldn’t he? Hermione had given him an out. She was the one to say they were friends. He shouldn’t be expected to just forsake all other women because he’d gotten her knocked up.

“I don’t.” Draco broke through her thoughts, “I don’t like Astoria, not like that.”

Hermione frowned.

“That’s not what it sounded like before.”

Draco sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“I know.” He mumbled, “I’m sorry. It was spiteful, and truly, I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.”

Hermione didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say. He wanted to marry Astoria, but he didn’t like her, but he was allowed to flirt with her if he wanted. So glad everything was making sense now.

“I said I would have married her.” Draco said hesitantly, “ and that’s not a lie.”

Hermione frowned. Who would marry someone they didn’t have feelings for? At least when Hermione had married the completely wrong man, she’d really believed they were in love and going to be happy together. It obviously hadn’t lasted long.

“Before my father went to Azkaban, he was negotiating with Astoria’s father for a marriage contract between us.”

“An arranged marriage?” Hermione wrinkled her nose. She’d honestly forgotten she was dealing with Purebloods and their archaic beliefs.

“Yes.” He shrugged, “The Greengrass family hadn’t been tied with the Malfoy’s for a long time, and they were a good Pureblood family.”

Hermione looked away. Did he still care about those things now? She wasn’t any of them. Her child wouldn’t be either. Her child would be a half-blood. Hermione’s child would be destroying centuries of Pureblood history and no doubt making dozens of proud Malfoy’s roll in their graves.

She was suddenly incredibly grateful that Lucius Malfoy was locked in Azkaban. Hermione had heard stories of the things these old Pureblood families had done to keep their lines pure. Obviously, there had been dalliances before, but any potential discrepancies in the lineage had always been removed. Most Pureblood families had records, family trees that were magically charmed to record the birth of any new member. Much like the tapestry in the Black family house, members couldn’t be spelled away to hide their existence, only blasted off to remove their sins. Any potential impure lines would be recorded too, except of course, if they never came into being.

Hermione shuddered.

“Why didn’t you?” Hermione asked finally, “Why didn’t you just marry her, anyway?”

Draco shrugged,

“I didn’t want to. Astoria’s father wasn’t interested in pursuing negotiations after the Malfoy name was dragged through the mud. I never wanted an arranged marriage; I would have done it for my father, but that was before I realised what a fool he was.”

It wasn’t the first time but hearing Draco so easily dismiss his father was still odd. Hermione was so used to the boy at Hogwarts who had always been so proud and loyal to his father, seeing him reject Lucius like this was jarring. Reassuring, but still unexpected.

“But you would have married her?” Hermione asked, still a little astounded that he could have just accepted a wife being arranged for him.

“Yes,” Draco said, then smirked a little. “It wouldn’t have been a very good match after all, anyway.”

“Why?” Hermione asked, frowning at her hands.

“Well, I’ve meet Astoria’s current fiancé and let’s just say we’re a little different.”

Hermione looked up. She didn’t know Astoria was engaged; it had never been any of the papers.

“Different?” Hermione gulped, the bubbling of shame and embarrassment beginning in her stomach.

Engaged. It most certainly would have helped to know Astoria was engaged. Draco’s smirked,

“Yes, well, Marietta is an alright sort, even if she is a little dim for a Ravenclaw, but she and Astoria seem happy. Even if Tori’s father isn’t.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, mouth popping open. That would be why there had been no announcement in the papers.

Wizarding perspective was still a little warped when it came to same-sex couples. Nobody seemed to bat an eye when it came to sex, but there was a lot of families who were against the marriage of homosexual couples. The sacred twenty-eight was especially conservative; how were they to preserve their perfect Pureblood lines without marrying a man and woman together? Hermione knew, from whispered rumours, that most homosexual witches and wizards of the Pureblood families were expected to marry ‘properly’ and then have their ‘dalliances’ on the side after they had produced an heir.

By the sound of it, Astoria was most definitely not following the status quo. It was undoubtedly possible that her father would disown her if she followed through with the marriage. They couldn’t outlaw gay marriage in wizard society as the magical bonds didn’t recognise gender, just the sworn oath between two people. Usually, the threat of ruin and being cast out was enough to keep most in line with the archaic beliefs.

Hermione couldn’t help admire Astoria a little. Which only made her feel more guilty about her prior assumptions.

“Um,” Hermione mumbled in realisation, “so you definitely weren’t flirting with her?”

“No.” Draco said, “A rather pointless endeavour.”

Draco eyes were soft and, mercifully, only a little teasing. It most definitely would have helped if Hermione had known Astoria was engaged to a woman before she’d accused Draco of flirting with her. And the various other things she’d presumed in her head.

“Oh.” Hermione looked down, feeling a little stupid.

Draco reached to her again, this time she let him take her hand in his own. He rubbed gentle circles with his thumb. Hermione looked up at him, but Draco was staring at their hands. His forehead was wrinkled in thought, and when he looked up again, meeting her eyes, Hermione felt a flutter of something deep in her core. Draco’s eyes were so open, the grey of his iris conflicted as he stared at her pleadingly. She squeezed his hand gently, and he held onto her like a lifeline as he opened his mouth, voice hoarse, unsure whisper,

“Hermione, I-”

“Have you gotten to the good bit yet?” Blaise interjected loudly.

Hermione jumped, forgetting that he was there. Blaise was leaning across the table, clearly unsure if they could hear him through the _Muffliato_ or not.

Draco sighed, let go of Hermione’s hand and used it to shove Blaise back over the table into his seat. He turned back to Hermione.

“Git.” He muttered to the unhearing but huffing Blaise.

“Says you.” Hermione scoffed at him, while Blaise glared at the pair of them.

“Right.”

“I, um-” Hermione stuttered, “I guess I owe you an apology.”

This was awkward, and more than ever she missed the comfortable companionship she had felt with Draco on the weekend before everything had become tense and messy. Draco shook his head.

“It’s fine, I could have just explained. Instead, I-.” He paused, dropping the sentence and shifted in his seat, “Actually, I’d much rather talk about why you were angry at me before that.”

Hermione blushed, _bollocks_.

“Um.” She said, chewing her lip. Was there any point lying and saying she wasn’t annoyed at him? It seemed pointless; she was annoyed. She hated the way they’d become stiff irritable robots the second they decided they wouldn’t date or sleep together. Why were the options barely tolerable or snogging?

Draco lifted an eyebrow.

“Hermione,” he started, and she waved a hand.

“Alright, yes, I was annoyed at you.” She admitted, looking up to the ceiling before she rushed out her thoughts. “The second I told you I wanted to be friends you just cut off. I want to be friends, Draco, not bloody business associates. I feel like the second I said ‘no sex’ you completely frosted over.”

Draco opened his mouth with a frown, but Hermione cut him off.

“And then I get these formal letters inquiring about my health and progress. We’re,” Hermione paused and looked around, checking the _Muffliato_ spell was still working, “having a child together. I want to be able to talk to you, really talk to you- not like it’s been this week; not feel like I’m sending you a progress report.”

Hermione let out a little huff as she finished. Draco was still frowning, staring at the table while he seemed to process. When he’d taken a few moments of silence and not responded, Hermione touched his arm.

“Draco.” She said, worried he was angry and cutting himself off again.

She had asked him to be friends, and she’d set the ‘no sex’ rule; perhaps trying to dictate their friendship was too much. She just wanted to keep the comfort they’d had that last Sunday without the actually complicated feelings. So far, it hadn’t been going too well.

“I don’t know how to be just friends with you, Hermione.” The words came out slow, unsure as to if he was trying to find the right phrasing. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, but I don’t know if I can.”

Draco looked conflicted, as his he regretted saying that much but at the same time wanted to say more. He opened his mouth another time, anxiously closing them and rubbing his brow. He cursed under his breath and shot a nervous look at Blaise, but said no more to Hermione.

Hermione understood it was strange, going backwards to friends from pregnancy and sex, but surely Draco could handle emotions somewhere between intimate and ice. They’d never been friends before, which made it all the more difficult to know what their friendship was meant to look like, but Hermione was willing to wade through the muddy confusion to find the answer. It was Hermione’s turn to frown.

“You’re friends with Astoria.” She said, “How is it any different?”

“I’ve never slept with Astoria.” Draco rolled his eyes.

“So, by sleeping with me, I’m no longer a human being you can interact with?” She raised an eyebrow. Men. She hated men that couldn’t handle a relationship with any women if they weren’t sleeping with them, Draco was about to get a right talking to if he thought that was appropriate.

Draco groaned,

“No, it’s not like that. I just…” Draco paused, chewed on one lip and sighed, “I don’t know where the line is with you. What’s friends and what’s more than friends?”

Hermione honestly didn’t know. It was something they’d clearly struggled with, but she didn’t want to cut off all conversation because they might accidentally slip into flirting. They’d just have to bumble around for a while until they found some kind of comfort level.

“I don’t know. It’s something we’ll just have to work out as we go.” Hermione shrugged, “Friendships aren’t linear, Draco, we can’t just plot a nice big line and say ‘this side is friends, this side isn’t’.”

“So you’re saying,” Draco couldn’t help a tiny smirk, “there are no rules to friendship?”

Hermione glared at him. _Bollocks_. Bloody Slytherins twisting everything to their own agenda. Hermione liked rules, even if she’d had a habit of breaking them in Hogwarts. Rules gave boundaries and stability.

“I’m saying, the man I’ve spent the last week getting formal enquires from is not the same man I agreed to be friends with, and I’d really like to have him back.”

Draco looked away guiltily.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, almost entirely too quiet but the fact it happened at all was still a miracle in Hermione’s books. Malfoy’s didn’t apologise. “I was trying to give you the space you wanted, I don’t want to push you away because I-”

Again, Draco cut himself off, and Hermione desperately wished he’d just allowing himself to express his feelings. She got the impression this was not the first time that Draco had gone away, after talking to her, to release his real emotions. She didn’t want him to feel he needed to give her space or that she was pushing him away.

“I don’t want space from you, Draco. If you need more space, then ok, we can work on that-” Draco looked at her alarmed, and Hermione continued, “but when I said friends, that wasn’t me trying to push you away. That was me trying to be closer to you, just, without it getting all mixed up with sex.”

Draco licked his lips, eyes watching her face carefully. Hermione smirked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Because,” she said, “honestly, sex with you is incredibly distracting. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I sort of stop thinking the moment you look at me like- uh, actually just like that.”

Draco’s pupils had dilated, his stare growing greedily dark as she’d reminded him of sex. Hermione gulped, and Draco cleared his throat. He looked away and slipped his hand out of hers. She would have been annoyed, but she needed a moment to compose herself as well. _Gods_.

“Alright.” Hermione said, “It’s my turn to amend the steps and the rules.”

Draco rolled his eyes,

“I say there are far too many rules already.”

Hermione shushed him, waving a hand. He was the one who’d started the steps. It had helped her too, when she wasn’t sure how to handle the pregnancy, it had given them small steps to work with.

“Step…” She hesitated. _Merlin, what very helpful step where they up to now?_

“Seven” Draco muttered, “See, you can’t even remember what step we’re up too. There are clearly too many.”

“Oh, be quiet. Step seven: We’re going to be friends. That means we can talk like normal humans. We’ll also go for lunch and-”

“Oh, now you’ll go to lunch with me?” Draco mock gasped at her. 

“Yes,” Hermione said, with an eye roll, “and if anyone asks, we’ll tell them the truth: we’re just friends.”

Draco grunted, looking dubious at her newfound approval.

“Also, new rules:” Draco sighed dramatically, but Hermione ignored him as she continued, “there are no rules, although I’m still not sleeping with you. And, no more trying to censor how we talk to each other. If one of us thinks it’s crossing the line into not-friends, we’ll just say something, alright?”

Draco frowned, still looking dubiously at her.

“Those certainly still sound like rules, Granger.” He muttered.

“Well, what did you expect- I am Hermione Granger after all.” She said, “So suck it up. Think of them as guidelines, or facts of life, or suggestions; whatever makes you feel better.”

“So,” Draco said after a moments pause, “if I say your hair is looking even bushier than usual and ask if you’ve got an entire family of birds in there?”

Hermione huffed,

“Rude.” She muttered, “but fine. Definitely, not across the line of not-friendly. In fact, that makes it distinctly easier to keep you away from the more-than-friends line.”

Draco snorted,

“And if I ask if you’re wearing knickers under that skirt?”

His eyes drifted downward, and Hermione squirmed. She licked her lips absent-mindedly, then realising herself, she smacked Draco on the arm.

“Over the line!” She said.

Draco finally chuckled,

“Shame.” He muttered quietly.

Hermione opened her mouth to reproach him, but she was interrupted as Blaise stuck his head over the table again.

“So, when am I to be officially announced as Godfather?” He said, a little too loudly, “I take it you two are all chummy again?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, she flicked her wand and reversed the magic blocking Blaise’s hearing so she could reply,

“How do you know you’re even in the running?” She said, leaning back into the chair as Draco did the same. She supposed that was all the time they were going to get to talk about them, Blaise was clearly ready to be involved in the conversation again.

Blaise raised his eyebrows over his glass.

“I believe I’m due the credit. It was me after all who convinced-”

“Blaise,” Draco growled over the table. An urgent, low tone cutting his friend off from further embarrassing him.

Hermione looked between the two of them. Blaise still looked amused, but Draco looked somewhat irate, veins tensing in his arms until his friend glanced away, backing down and smiling politely at Hermione. Hermione was beginning to think if she wanted to really get the full read on Draco’s emotions, those that he still seemed determined not to share with her, she needed to pick Blaise’s brains.

“I’m just saying, Hermione,” Blaise said, “without me, your poor baby daddy here would-”

“I’m sorry.” Another voice but Blaise off, this time making all three look up wildly, “Your what?”

Padma stood; four glasses gripped precariously in her hands, staring down at the conspirators. _Oh, Merlin_ , Hermione gulped. She hadn’t seen Padma return, too busy trying to analyse the look between Blaise and Draco.

“Uhhhh,” Blaise said glancing at Hermione, “She doesn’t…?”

Hermione could only shake her head in horror.

“Well,” Blaise said slowly, the words came out mechanical as if you could see the cogs grinding to think of something. “I said, uh, without me your, um, gaby… no, um… faby, no that’s worse. Blimey, what the hell else rhymes with baby?”

Hermione groaned and rubbed the bridge of her nose while Draco looked across the table, aghast at his friend's complete lack of subtlety.

“Blaise.” He groaned, “You can stop.”

Blaise let out a long huff of air.

“Thank the gods.” He mumbled, gulping down the rest of the liquid in his glass and shuffling over to make room for Padma.

Padma slid into the seat diagonally across from Hermione, setting the drinks down in front of her.

“Hermione, what’s going on?” She asked softly, reaching one hand across the table and touching Hermione’s hand gently. “I saw you two looking friendly again and thought it might be safe to come back, but clearly there’s more going on here.”

Padma looked between the three of them, Hermione couldn’t really blame her. They’d relegated her to the bar for long enough, she’d probably been getting annoyed about being in the dark for so long and leaving her friend at the mercy of two Slytherins. Hermione sighed and gripped Padma’s hand back. It wasn’t like she didn’t owe her an explanation for the whole evening.

“I’m, uh,” Hermione paused, checking that no one else was about to walk into another revelation. “I’m pregnant.”

Despite obviously hearing what Blaise had said Padma’s mouth dropped open. She blinked, squeezed Hermione’s hand, opened her mouth, closed it, made a ‘huh’ sound, then looked at Blaise with a wrinkled nose.

“Why on earth did Blaise Zabini know about you being pregnant before I did?” She said. “Oh gods, are you-”

Blaise frowned back at her, not enjoying the implication.

“I happen to be the godfather, thank you very much.” He grumbled, taking one of the glasses Padma had brought and sinking into it.

Hermione didn’t even bother to current Blaise’s assumption. It wasn’t exactly the time.

“So…” Padma looked back at Hermione. She blinked a few more times. “…who’s the father?”

Hermione licked her lips nervously and glanced at her hands. She’d actually thought that part was going to be obvious considering the evening's dramatics, but clearly, the concept of Draco being her child’s father was just that obscure. She felt Draco shift beside her, either amused or annoyed at being passed over so quickly. Just as Hermione was about to look at Draco, Padma let out a tiny gasp and leaned forwards.

“It’s not Ronald, is it? Please tell me it’s not Ron, Hermione.”

Hermione scrunched her face in distaste.

“Eugh,” she said, “no. Absolutely not.”

Draco, tense beside her, let out an annoyed noise that closely resembled a growl. Padma sighed,

“Oh, thank Merlin.” She said, holding a hand up to her head. “At least… wait, why are you annoyed at that, Malfoy?”

She looked at Hermione, then at Draco, then back at Hermione. They looked at each other, a guilty glance that spoke volumes. Padma’s mouth dropped again.

“Oh.” She said. “ _Oh_.”

Padma stared into her drink for a second and then back up at the non-couple. She waved a finger between the two of them.

“So that’s what’s going on? Tonight, I mean, with the crying and the yelling and the hushed conversations.”

Hermione shrugged,

“Sort of. Just a misunderstanding, we’re ok now. Friends.” She didn’t particularly want to relive the humiliation or the many feelings she’d had about Draco talking to another woman. They were friends, that’s all, Hermione was already trying to stifle any other considerations.

“Padma,” Hermione asked as Padma stared keenly into her butterbeer, a hand on either side of her temple. “Are you alright?”

“Just… give me a moment.” Padma muttered. She leant back in the seat and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes.

She mumbled to herself and twitched her fingers as if trying to figure out an impossible calculation. One pregnant Hermione + Draco as a father = X. If Padma was good at anything, it was the mathematical concepts of romance, seduction and ill-fated sex scandals. She’d quashed enough in her line of work. Her hands stilled, eyes dropping from the ceiling.

“Oh, sweet Circe.” Padma said, “This is because you didn’t wear knickers under the dress, isn’t it?”

Hermione didn’t get the chance to answer when Blaise spat butterbeer across the table with a roar of laughter. Hermione jumped, glancing at him then at Draco. Despite the shock, there was a magnificent smirk across his face.

“Wipe that look off your face Draco.” Hermione scowled him.

Draco snorted at her irritation, then broke into a hearty laugh as Padma nodded slowly across the table.

“I knew it,” Padma said in a hushed voice.

Hermione groaned. This was not how she was expecting this conversation to go. Padma shook her head.

“I think,” she said, “I’m going to need the full story now because there is still a whole lot missing between the knickers and tonight.”

Hermione bit her lip.

“Fine.” She said and lifted her wand. She wasn’t going to take the chance that someone might overhear them. A small party had just arrived and was seated in the middle of the pub, should they listen carefully they might overhear the tale Hermione wished she didn’t have to tell. “ _Muffliato_.”

“Start from the beginning.” Padma smiled, shuffling to get comfortable and palming her butterbeer with both hands. Blaise too shifted his attention, looking amused as Hermione blushed.

“You know the start, Padma. You brought me the bloody dress.”

Blaise chuckled,

“It was a good dress.” He said fondly.

“Oi,” Draco growled over the table.

Blaise shrugged at him,

“I thought you were just friends.”

Draco’s jaw set firmly, and he glared at his friend across the table. Hermione ignored them both. She looked at Padma and began to explain. Padma obviously knew Hermione’s intentions going to the Gala, but she described them anyway, then awkwardly told how she and Malfoy had devised the revenge plot of entertaining the press.

“…and then,” Hermione smirked, “Draco decided to be very mature and hid from Blaise.”

Blaise gave a dramatic gasp,

“You mean he wasn’t getting drinks?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, and Draco snorted, clearly, none of them had believed her terrible lie. Hermione shrugged; it didn’t seem like Draco sneaking away from his speeches was an uncommon occurrence.

“Hush, Blaise.” Hermione muttered, “Anyway, then we went down to the cellar and then,”

Hermione paused, it was all very well and good to explain how they’d decided to torment Ron but she most certainly about to give any detailed to precisely what had happened after that.

“And then,” Hermione blushed and looked up at Draco. He was watching her, a smirk on his face and eyes darkened as he sipped his butterbeer. He knew precisely ‘what then’.

“Then fire whisky.” He said for her.

Hermione gulped, unable to look away from Draco’s face. She could feel the heat building under her collar, trying not to remember the intimate details of the evening unsuccessfully.

“And… and then,” Hermione stuttered and felt the like her face was on fire.

Padma was leaning forward, smirking and eyes enraptured.

“And then, sex,” Draco purred across the table.

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to will her face to calm.

“And then, uh,” she muttered.

“And then more sex,” Draco said, shoulders bouncing as he chuckled.

Hermione’s eyes flashed open, and she smacked him on the arm.

“Draco!” She hissed, while Padma and Blaise laughed.

“What?” Draco laughed, “I thought we were giving them the full story?”

Hermione groaned,

“I think you can skip a few details.” Hermione looked over the table at Padma, “And then a couple of weeks later, I found out I was pregnant.”

Draco snorted, leaning back and draping one arm over the back of the seat above Hermione’s shoulder.

“Four details,” He said smugly, “She’s skipping four ‘details’ if you were curious.”

Hermione glared at him. Draco smiled at her innocently as Padma coughed into her drink.

“Four,” she gasped, “Four more…. Ah, details?”

Blaise gaffed, and made a lewd sign that made Padma’s eyes widen and Blaise snorted,

“Blimey. Sure, it’s not twins then, Hermione?”

Hermione glared over the table at him, feeling the need to explain that was not how it worked. This was ridiculous. All of this was ridiculous. All three of her companions chuckled into their butterbeer while Hermione avoided her own glass.

“Then I found out I saw pregnant, told Draco, went to St Mungo’s, and we decided to just be friends. The End.” Hermione folded her arms across her chest and glared as the other three laughed. “Very mature, the bloody lot of you.”

The hand Draco had draped over the back of the seat, nudged her shoulder lightly.

“I’m sorry,” he grinned ruthlessly, “I thought this was what you wanted? Friends tease each other, right?”

Hermione glared back at him, even as two fingers petted her shoulder. She eventually sighed. Despite how embarrassing this all was Hermione had to admit it was still better than the cold person from the past week. She wrinkled her nose at him— _bloody Slytherin_.

Padma wheezed at them, clearly enjoying the story.

“I’m sorry, Hermione.” She said, trying to compose herself. “So, what about tonight?”

Hermione bit her lip; it was easy to laugh about the past, but this was a little fresh. Draco lost his smirk and tensed beside her.

“I, uh,” Draco said awkwardly, staring into his glass. “that was my fault.”

Hermione looked up at him,

“It was a misunderstanding.” She said lightly, “We’re fine now, back to being friends.”

Padma raised an eyebrow, but Hermione gave her the tiniest shake of the head. Padma nodded.

“So, I take it,” Padma said, “you weren’t just upset about Ron earlier?”

“The Weasel?” Draco said next to her, a deep frown furrowing on his face the mention of Hermione’s ex-husband. “What’s that freckle-head done now?”

Draco’s hand resumed tracing small, unnoticeable circles on her shoulder. Blocked from the rest of the pub she didn’t bother to tell him the way it stirred something past her naval that might have been bordering the more-than-friends line. Friends could be affectionate, Hermione reasoned to herself, she and Padma held hands and hugged frequently. This wasn’t all that different, was it?

Padma shot a look at Hermione, worried she’d overstepped by mentioning Ron. Hermione shrugged one shoulder, not the one Draco was touching in case he thought she was trying to get rid of him.

“Uh,” Padma said, “Lavender is in labour at the moment.”

Blaise snorted while Draco went tense. Blaise, who clearly already knew, didn’t need to do the mental maths. Draco, after a moment of pause, stared at Hermione. She avoided eye contact and looked at Padma.

“I’m fine.” Hermione said, “Honestly, Ronald doesn’t phase me nearly as much as you’d think.”

Draco’s hand pressed against her shoulder, firmer this time. She forced herself to look at him. When Hermione did, she found his eyes enraged, the dark grey of his eyes intense as he opened his mouth.

“Honestly,” Hermione said earnestly again, interrupting him. She pressed her leg against Draco’s, hoping he would know she was okay.

Draco closed his mouth again, but with the palm of his hand, he pushed Hermione along the seat, until her leg was pressed firmly against his and she was tucked under Draco’s arm. He put his arm carefully back on the bench but Hermione could feel his warmth, pressed to her side. Hermione gulped, staring at the table, _this was still on the right side of the line, right?_

“What I’d like to know,” Blaise said, covering the moment. “Is how the Weasel managed to keep that out of the Prophet?”

Hermione shrugged; she’d wondered the same thing.

“A very handsome bag of galleons is my guess,” Padma said.

Blaise frowned, looking at his glass then back at Hermione.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve a few contacts at the Prophet, Hermione, I’m sure I could put in a word or two about our dear friend Ronald.”

Draco snorted, and Hermione elbowed him. She might have disliked Ron for his behaviour, but she wasn’t about to sink to that level.

“Thank you for the offer, Blaise, but it’s fine.”

Blaise pursed his lips but shrugged.

“The offer still stands, should you ever change your mind.”

Hermione smiled at him; she appreciated the intention. Even if it was terribly Slytherin.

“Pads, you could use a few inside men at the Prophet.” Hermione smiled at her friend.

Padma raised her eyebrows with a snort.

“I’d need more than a few.”

Blaise turned to her curiously.

“Oh,” he said, “Is Miss Patil a little less innocent than she appears?”

“Oh god.” Padma said, “It’s not for me. It’s for my work.”

Blaise shifted, turning himself until he was facing her.

“Do tell.” He said.

Padma bit her lip, thinking for a moment.

“Ok,” she said, “but I’m changing all the names and personal details, this is not a story to be retold.”

Blaise held up his hand,

“Wizards honour, but wait,” He looked around the table, all butterbeer now finished except for Hermione’s. “I think we’re going to need another round.”

Blaise clambered out of the booth before anyone could protest, managing to get past Padma smoothly as he flashed her a grin. Blaise smacked Draco’s shoulder.

“Move it, Malfoy. Help me get these ladies some drinks.” He waggled his eyebrows at them as he spoke, and Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

Draco huffed but followed his friend. Padma, as the men departed, leaned over the table to Hermione.

“Hermione Granger, I cannot believe you didn’t tell me about this sooner.” She chided her with a smile.

Hermione blushed,

“I, uh, didn’t know how to tell you. I promise I would have soon.”

“You’d better,” Padma said, leaning back. “Oh, and I want all the details of the…. details later. Merlin, was it good? I bet it was good, look at him. And what’s with all this friends business, that man is clearly-”

Padma was cut off as Blaise’s voice came drifting back to the table.

“It doesn’t matter if you cut my pay, you know you’ll just end up giving me another raise after the next Gala dinner you skip out on.”

Blaise and Draco reached the table once more, Blaise still looking jovial but Draco had a dark scowl on his face. He placed a glass of Gillywater in front of Hermione as he slid back into the booth, then quickly repositioned his arm. He also called Blaise some choice names as he sipped on a glass of fire whisky.

“Why are you threatening Blaise's wages this time?” Hermione asked, they honestly had an odd friendship.

“Blaise, here, has decided to inform me that I have to be in France tomorrow,” Draco said darkly.

“Well I wasn’t about to tell you yesterday, you would’ve thrown me out of the bloody building in your mood.”

Draco glared at him but didn’t deny it.

“Oh,” Hermione muttered, something inside of her sinking a little. “For how long?”

“It’s a week-long business symposium. There are some lucrative deals that Malfoy Industries is trying to secure, except they won’t sign without the man himself,” Blaise nodded to Draco, “being present.”

Hermione chewed her lip slightly. A week. He’d be gone for a whole week when it seemed they’d just started talking again. _Don’t cry, Hermione_ , she told herself, _do not freaking cry right now_. Hermione nodded at Blaise, shoving the Gillywater to her mouth to cover the painful feeling of needing to cry that flooded her body.

Draco, his body, again pressed against hers, tensed and shook his head.

“No, Blaise.” He said, no longer angry but still serious. “I’m not going for a week, I have to be back by Tuesday.”

Draco’s fingers pressed reassuringly on Hermione’s shoulder again. Tuesday. Merlin, Hermione had forgotten. They had their appointment at St Mungo’s on Tuesday, she’d been nine weeks by then. Hermione looked up at Draco, he’d actually remembered. _Damn, do not cry you silly, hormonal bint._

Blaise let out a huff, frowning in annoyance at his boss.

“Draco, we’ve been working on this deal for months. You can’t just not-”

“Blaise,” Draco said sternly, sounding far more like a boss than a friend. “I said no. I’ll get the contract signed and be back before Tuesday.”

“What’s so bloody special about Tuesday?” Blaise huffed.

Hermione looked up, wondering if she was right or if there was just something else Draco needed to do on Tuesday. Draco eyes lowered to her, a gentle smile tugging on his lips.

“There’s a little speck I need to be there for.” He murmured.

Hermione couldn’t help the smile on her face, she had to glance down at her hands, trying to compose the giddy grin that wanted to break free.

“You don’t have to.” Hermione said, feeling a little guilty, “If you need to be in France, I can go by myself.”

Draco frowned,

“No.” He said firmly, “I said I’d be there, and I’m not going to back on my word.”

Hermione grinned but didn’t say anything. She was too scared to look up him again, nervous that if she did, she might react the same another time he’d proclaimed his dedication to their child. Hermione didn’t know why Draco being so determined to care about their child made her heart flutter, but last time it had resulted in Hermione losing a pair of knickers. Snogging Draco’s brains out in her office and losing complete control over her emotions, she needed to not go down that road again. Instead, she just bumped her leg against his hoping he would understand her tiny gesture of gratitude. Blaise, who’d obviously been watching their interaction, shrugged. He ignored the way Draco watched Hermione.

“What exactly,” Padma asked, “Were you planning on doing if his bad mood hadn’t ended?”

Blaise smirked,

“My back up plan was to get my dear boss here so drunk he’d pass out and then port keying him to France. Might have been a little miffed when he woke up but he’d have a whole week to get over it.” 

Padma laughed, and Blaise turned his attention to her.

“Now,” he said, “I believe I’m owed a scandalous story, Miss Patil.”

Padma rolled her eyes at him and launched into the retelling of an old work story, one highly amusing but not likely to cause any problems should it be retold. Draco’s hand began tracing circles on Hermione’s arm once more as they listened.

* * *

Almost four hours, multiple mugs of butterbeer and a few glasses of fire whiskey later and all three of Hermione’s companions were thoroughly drunk. Hermione giggled as Blaise, arms waving expressively, told Padma about the time he’d had to stop a French businessman from accidentally engaging a muggle prostitute on a business trip. Padma wheezed like she’d consumed far too much giggle water and almost fell off the seat entirely.

Hermione was enjoying herself. Even sober, she could enjoy the evening's long tales, almost constant mockery and the proximity of Draco. This is the friendship she’d wanted. Draco, Padma and Blaise had teased her for her old tendency to wave her hand wildly at Hogwarts and had only stopped when Hermione had redirected the conversation to Draco’s very dramatic Hippogriff altercation. It was pleasant, even when they touched close to old rivalries and insults, they’d been able to laugh at their former selves. The entire time Draco had kept Hermione close to his side, subtle affections making her heart beat faster.

Finally, Hermione’s stomach rumbled loudly, interrupting one of Blaise’s stories.

“Hungry?” Draco asked her quietly, the word a little slurred behind the fire whisky.

She nodded, they’d never gotten around to dinner, and now she realised it was a mistake. The kitchen of the Leaky Cauldron had closed hours ago, and most of Wizarding London didn’t open late on a weeknight.

“You know,” Hermione said slyly, “I think there’s an excellent chippy near here, on the muggle side.”

Draco groaned. Hermione wondered if Draco Malfoy had ever stepped foot onto the muggle side of London, most likely he’d avoided it his entire life, presuming there couldn’t be anything better than the wizarding world he knew. Hermione grinned up at him until Draco sighed and rolled his eyes.

“The things I do for you, woman.” He muttered. Draco waved his hand across the table, struggling to draw the attention of Padma and Blaise, still deep in conversation. “Oi, you two. How do you feel about an adventure?”

“Oh,” Padma said excitedly, “Where?”

“Food for the pregnant witch,” Draco said. Hermione was incredibly grateful that their _Muffliato_ charm was still buzzing quietly in the background.

“Is it to the Chippy?” Padma asked, “Their mushy peas are the best.”

Draco wrinkled his nose and looked at Hermione. She’d introduced Padma to the muggle establishment over a year ago, and they often wandered back there if their Wednesday drinks went late. It was Hermione’s favourite drunk food and apparently now, as her stomach growled again at the thought, one of her pregnancy cravings.

“Mushy peas?” Draco asked in disgust.

Hermione laughed,

“They’re amazing, I promise.”

Despite Draco’s prominent resignation, both to muggle London and mushy peas, they all piled out of the booth and Hermione corralled the drunk little group to the front entrance of the Leaky Cauldron.

On their way out she avoided the looks from the only other remaining group in the pub, a collection of excited young witches and wizards. Hermione frowned at the one brown hair wizard that watched her curiously. _Nosey gits_ , she thought. She was aware that their little group was a strange mix for anyone that knew her but at least in muggle London they wouldn’t be recognised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, me again.  
> Again (hello the broken record) thank you so much to everyone who left kudos or a comment, I know there's a lot of angsty rage at the moment but I still love seeing your reactions so in-depth!!! Your pain may also make me giggle a little- wait, what, I'd never say that, I'm an angel 😈  
> Oh, and I hope you guys didn't mind how incredibly dialogue-heavy this chapter was, I know it's basically one long conversation so hopefully, it didn't drag.  
> Until next time,  
> Nif.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo!  
> Hope you're all still hanging in there, my apologies for the unexpected break but we should be back to regular updates now 💙
> 
> Nif.

* * *

A few blocks from the Leaky Cauldron, they found Hermione’s craving. A tiny little chip shop with a burly looking man behind the counter and the best mushy peas she’d ever had. They each gotten something after a short discussion on the merits and abomination of mushy peas and settled in the empty sidewalk.

They were all silent as they munched on the chips. Three because they were contently drunk and one because she was content being fed. Something Hermione frequently found she needed now that she was pregnant, Hermione had been quite used to missing lunch during busy workdays, but now she religiously hunted down Betty the sandwich witch as the clock struck twelve. Blaise and Padma sat on a low bench across from Hermione and Draco leant back on the wall, eyes half-closed as he tilted his head back on the cool bricks.

Hermione chuckled at him. His chips balanced in his hand precariously, unwanted and cooling quickly in the night air.

“What are you laughing at, Granger?” Draco purred at her, cracking one eye open to look at her.

“You’re drunk,” Hermione said to him, taking the unwanted chips from him and dumping the remains in the bin with her own.

Draco smirked and denied nothing. Hermione walked back to him, enjoying the sight of the ruffled Malfoy. She liked him like this, open and unhindered.

A breeze travelled down the small street, blowing Hermione’s hair around her face and she pulled her light cloak around her tighter. It was meant for warmth travelling too and from work not for gallivanting around with hungry drunks close to midnight. They didn’t stand out too much, their cloaks the only distinguishing difference from normal business wear. The man at the Chippie hadn’t even looked twice at their slightly less than muggle attire. Clearly, there were things you just didn’t question that late at night in the middle of London. 

“You’re cold,” Draco said, watching Hermione.

Eyes more alert and concerned as Hermione shrugged and turned, trying to control the chattering of her teeth so he wouldn’t see. Draco frowned at her dismissal of the obvious. He shuffled down the wall and reached for her.

“Come here, Granger.” He muttered, tugging on the back of her cloak and pulling her towards him. “I’m not going to let the mother of my child freeze.”

Hermione couldn’t do much as he tugged her backwards until she was standing between his legs, only a pace in front of him. She could feel his warmth already, fuelled from the fire whisky. Draco wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her into his chest. His arms engulfed and warmed her to the core.

“Weasley is a fucking fool,” Draco muttered softly, eyelids closing again. Hermione rested her own hand on his arm as his heat spread through her.

 _Line_ , Hermione’s mind screamed, _this is the line, Hermione, you are very quickly crossing it!_ Hermione gulped and didn’t move; she didn’t dare as Draco’s warm chest pressed against her back and stopped her shivering. It’s just for warmth; she reasoned, nothing more.

Hermione let herself feel Draco’s muscular chest breathing against her. He smelt like she remembered, even down to the fire whisky. Hermione’s core stirred to life; this was _her_ Draco. _Oh god, where was that line again?_ Draco’s head tipped down, his nose nuzzling into her hair and his stubbled chin brushing her neck. 

“You smell good.” He murmured close to her ear; she could feel his warm breath.

One hand on his arm Hermione desperately tried to convince herself that this was still friendly, that he was holding her the same way that Harry would, but it was complete bollocks. Hermione didn’t want it to end, she wanted to have Draco’s lips curl against her throat and sink their way down.

“Aren’t they ‘just friends’?” She heard Padma whisper to Blaise, both of whom were watching the progression of their friends go from playful affection to inappropriately sensual for a street corner in London.

“That’s the current tag line,” Blaise muttered back, clearly amused rather than abhorred at witnessing his boss pushing himself against Hermione’s back.

 _Merlin_ , Hermione thought, this was going too far. Draco was an affectionate drunk, and she was getting her fix when he could barely stand upright. She needed to stop, her eyes fluttered open, and she breathed out a low sigh. She didn’t want to do this; she craved his touch. Something she was determined to pin on being pregnant.

“Too far, Draco,” Hermione whispered reluctantly back to the Slytherin wrapping himself around her.

Draco stilled, paused and for a desperate minute, Hermione thought he might try to convince her this was a friendly gesture, just something to warm her. _Gods_ , she wanted him too. These hormones were dangerous, his arms wrapped around her soothed and electrified in a way she’d never felt before. Finally, Draco pulled his head back with the smallest groan. Draco’s hands were still wrapped around her middle, warm and comforting.

Just as he was beginning to extract himself from her, exposing Hermione once more to the chill of the night, a blinding light flashed.

“Ergh.” Draco groaned, loudly this time as he pulled back from Hermione entirely. “What in Merlin was that?”

Hermione breath sucked in. She knew. She knew exactly what it was.

“Fuck.” She whispered, bright spots still flooding her eyes.

She blinked rapidly, trying to see again. This wasn’t good. In fact, if she was right, this was really, really bad. As Hermione’s vision returned, she heard Padma exclaim.

“Hey! You can’t just do that.”

Hermione’s insides withered as she stared at the large camera that had blinded her with its flash. She’d been right. They’d been followed by a wizarding reporter. A smug young man who Hermione swore looked familiar. Quill scribbling quickly for him, he shrugged at Padma.

“Free country, lady. I can photograph people who conduct their business on the street.”

 _Idiots._ Hermione realised how stupid she’d been to presume their safety in muggle London. Now the press had managed to capture a moment of weakness, one that would look very convincingly like she and Draco were in fact dating if it were to be published in the Prophet.

“Blaise,” Draco growled out from behind Hermione.

Blaise, who was closest to the strange wizard and already standing, grinned a wicked smile and clamped a hand on his shoulder.

“Basil,” Blaise said, “mate. Why don’t we have a quick chat, buddy?”

The wizard stiffened and glanced eyes between Blaise and Draco warily. He clutched his camera nervously, and even his quill retreated into his satchel. Blaise turned the man carefully, moving him down the street away from their group.

“Relax, pal.” Hermione heard Blaise say, “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Hermione, mouth still open in shock, turned to Draco.

“What exactly is Blaise going to do to that man?” She asked sternly, as much as she didn’t want that photo in the press, Hermione suddenly felt like she was in a mafia movie and was somewhat concerned for the poor wizard's knee caps.

Draco smirked, a drunk half-smile but his eyes looked more focused than before. She didn’t know if it was the blinding light or the horrifying realisation that they’d been caught that had caused his eyes to become clearer and his posture to pull straighter.

“Relax, Hermione.” He murmured, still sounding drunk. “He’s just going to talk to him, make sure that photo doesn’t get printed tomorrow.”

Hermione pursed her lips as she looked up at him. His eyes were genuine, but she still knew there was no way anyone, not even the smooth-talking Blaise, was going to simply _talk_ that reporter into not printing the picture.

“He’s not going to do anything to him?” She asked, hands not firmly on hips. “And no using magic on him?”

Draco smirked, one hand reached out and tugged at hers.

“I promise.” He whispered.

Draco’s thumb brushed over the back of Hermione’s hand, more electricity running through her veins at the simple gesture. _Gods_ , she thought, she felt like she was going to melt. Even moments after being caught and almost outed to the British wizarding world, Hermione wanted nothing more than to feel his arms wrap around her once more.

Padma, who gratefully might have a sixth sense for feeling Hermione’s resolve crumble, cleared her throat and stepped closer. It was much harder to ignore the fraternising couple when Blaise wasn’t there to amuse and distract her.

“Right,” Padma said, claiming Hermione’s arm and tugging her away. “I think that’s about enough excitement for one evening.”

Hermione sighed, knowing she was right but also wanting, very much, for her to be wrong. She was, photograph excluding, enjoying her evening with Draco and their friends. They were getting along, he was affectionate, and Hermione, for the first time in over a week, was in a good mood.

Padma pulled Hermione along, heading back towards the Leaky Cauldron, holding tightly to the woman as Draco trailed along behind them. A few streets along Blaise lounged against the window of a muggle shop front, a relaxed grin on his face.

Nothing was spoken of the reporter, but Blaise gave Draco a clear and unmistakable nod as he joined their little party. In his hands, he flipped and caught a film canister, as he pushed away from the wall and joined them, it was slipped into his pocket. Hermione let a little sigh of relief out and Padma squeezed her arm affectionately.

With a hip bump and a smile, Padma leaned closer and whispered in her ear.

“Just friends, huh?”

Hermione shushed Padma, quickly glancing over her shoulder at their Slytherin shadows. Draco smirked at her from the dark shadows, eyes travelling over her body and clearly landing on her ass. Hermione blushed and didn’t have the heart to inform him that looks like that were most definitely ‘too far’.

The four of them entered the old wizarding pub again, and Hermione saw the reporter, Basil, sitting at a table with some others. Of course, she realised, he’d been one of those she’d felt watching her before they’d left the Leaky. Clearly, their attempts at avoiding watchful eyes had failed spectacularly. Basil raised his glass at them and nodded, grinning like a fool. Hermione noted the expensive bottle of giggle water he set on the wooden table to the cheers of his friends. She wondered what he’d told them of his disappearance and sudden wealth upon his return. He’d obviously followed her odd little group when they’d left and taken the chance that he might get a good scoop on an otherwise quiet night. Hermione tried not to frown at him, she usually had the utmost respect for workaholics such as herself, but she had to draw the line somewhere.

As they passed through to the wizarding side of the pub and the little room with the floo, Hermione felt a hand touch her back. Hermione turned to Draco, but Padma didn’t let go of her arm. Draco’s eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth. He was interrupted before he could start when Blaise clapped a hand onto Draco’s shoulder.

“Let’s get you home, mate.” Blaise and glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get you sober, and port keyed to France in… less than five hours.” 

Hermione’s face wilted, she’d forgotten France. Draco would be gone for days. She bit her lip, trying to stop the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. _Gods, these hormones_. Hermione felt like a damn yoyo, spinning high and happy when Draco was with her and plunging to the ground the moment he wasn’t. _Pull yourself together_ , Hermione scowled herself, _you’re a perfectly functioning adult- you don’t need to rely on a man to make you happy_. Still, the idea of going any more time without seeing him when they’d just found a decent place as friends cut at her resolve and made herself bitterly disappointed in herself.

Draco nodded at Blaise but turned back to Hermione before Blaise could drag him away. He bent and kissed Hermione on the check.

“I’ll be back by Tuesday,” Draco said, hand brushing her waist again.

Hermione’s heart thumped painfully in her chest as she pulled her arm away from Padma, not caring who may see. She wrapped her arms around Draco, burying her face in his chest. Draco pulled her in his arms tightly.

“You’ll write?” She mumbled into his cloak.

Draco dropped a light kiss on the top of her head. Hermione looked up at him, noting from her peripheries that Blaise was rolling his eyes in Padma’s direction. Draco gently tucked a loose curl of Hermione’s hair behind her ear and smiled down at her. Her heart beat faster, a warm stirring in her core erupting once more as Draco looked down at her.

“I promise.”

* * *

Thursday morning, Hermione lay in her bed thumbing through the Daily Prophet and sighing in relief that the photo from the previous night was not present when Apollo swooped in through her unlocked window. He hooted reproachfully that she was still in bed at eight in the morning and dropped a letter on her chest. To Hermione’s surprise, the owl didn’t depart but landed on the top of her dresser and settled down for his own morning nap.

Hermione recognised the neat, tight script of Draco on the envelope and discarded the Prophet on the other side of the bed. She’d been deliberating whether to read the gushing article about the perfect new addition to the Weasley family, but as soon as she got her hands on the letter, she ripped it open with impatient vigour. Hermione forced herself to stop and breathed slowly. She had a ridiculous giddy expression on her face, and she needed to calm down.

 _You shouldn’t be getting this excited about a friend_ , she reminded herself. Once she’d calmed herself and was no longer grinning, she opened the envelope and read the contents.

**_Good Morning,_ **

**_Are you aware that a Port Key is quite possibly the most horrific way to get sober? I am now unfortunate enough to be in possession of such knowledge._ **

**_Also, Blaise has been calling me a hair-sniffer all morning, so I’m going to presume I owe you an apology for that. In my defence, your hair is so bushy I’m pretty sure it attacked my face and not the other way around._ **

**_I’ve decided that this will be easier if Apollo stays with you as I know you don’t have your own owl and I don’t particularly wish to wait days before I get your letters while I’m stuck in this forsaken country. If you refuse, I’ll just buy you an owl, and then you’ll have to take it or be a horrid person who abandons their pets._ **

**_Let me know how you are, preferably daily. Don’t worry about Apollo, he’s bred for these sorts of flights, and honestly, I don’t trust that there’s not some kind of magic involved. What time is your appointment on Tuesday? I’m meant to have meetings in the morning, but I’ll skip them if I have to._ **

**_D.M._ **

**_P.S. Blaise wishes to know when he’ll officially be named as the Speck’s Godfather._ **

****

Hermione smiled at the letter. This was her Draco. The one who teased her hair and thought threatening to blackmail her was an appropriate way to get what he wanted. Hermione snorted; this was the man she’d missed. Clearly, she was as barmy as he was if she found this endearing, even if she was mostly certain he was joking.

Hermione didn’t give Apollo much of a chance to rest, she scrambled out of bed and pulled a piece of parchment from the drawer. She didn’t have a lot of time; she’d already been having a lie-in and work started soon. Compared to usual, Hermione was practically late already.

_Hi,_

_Thank you for sending Apollo, that was very thoughtful. My appointment is at two in the afternoon on Tuesday._

_I hope France is going well. I know you’ve only been there for a few hours, but I forgot to tell you the other week. Week eight is almost over, but the Speck (fine, it’s warming on me) was the size of a raspberry._

_Thank you for getting Blaise to clear up the issue with that reporter. I’m not stupid enough to think Basil did it out of the goodness of his heart, I know it must have cost at least a sack of galleons. However, that doesn’t mean that Blaise is necessarily going to be Godfather, I still think Harry would be ideal._

_Hermione._

_P.S. I don’t think Apollo likes me very much, is there a treat he likes that I can get him?_

By the time Hermione had returned from work on Thursday evening, Apollo was back, settled on his chosen place in her bedroom and another letter left on her dining table. Hermione grinned at it; she hadn’t expected Draco to reply so quickly. Wasn’t there was actually some business that he needed to attend to during his business trip?

**_Hermione,_ **

**_Apollo doesn’t like a lot of people. He also doesn’t enjoy treats. However, he’s a spoilt beast, let him free roam around you flat, and he’ll love you. He’s clean, so don’t worry about having to clean up after him._ **

**_Also, Misty says you’re not letting her clean your flat. She’s distraught._ **

**_France is fine, very dull. Remind me to cut Blaise’s salary until he promises he not to send me away again. Perhaps I could threaten to not make him Godfather. Which, for the record, Potter is most definitely not going to be. I said I’d be civil to the twat, not that I’d let him ruin my child with bloody tales of how great Gryffindor is._ **

**_Also, what is a telly?_ **

**_D.M_ **

****

Hermione had given Apollo the night off to rest and ended up too rushed in the morning, between trying to finish her usual routine and coping with her morning sickness, to return Draco’s letter. On Friday evening, after a very long day of work and an enjoyable, yet rambling conversation with Luna Lovegood, Hermione finally got home and managed to sit down for more than five minutes.

Apollo munched happily on a treat while she wrote to Draco and even bumped his head against her hand as gave him the letter. _Doesn’t like treats_ , Hermione scoffed.

_Draco,_

_I found a treat that Apollo likes! I went and saw Luna today, and she gave me these liver treats. They stink, but he likes them. I think we’re finally bonding, yesterday while I was reading, he brought me a mouse. I’d hoped those days were over when Crookshanks passed._

_I can’t believe you think France is dull, Draco. There is so much history to see! You should visit the museums, even the muggle ones. I think you’d like them._

_Misty managed to clean my flat yesterday so you can stop worrying about her. She’s very sneaky when she wants to be._

_Also, my parents will be back in a couple of weeks. I need to tell them about the Speck. I’m hoping we’ll have a new ultrasound to show them too. The wizarding ones look almost exactly the same as muggle ones._

_Hermione._

_P.S. A telly is a television. It’s a screen that shows recorded plays, sort of, it’s easier if I just show you when you get back._

Hermione dreamt of snuggling on the couch and watching telly with Draco. She awoke on Saturday morning incapable of wiping the ridiculous grin off her face and kept catching sign of herself in the mirror as she busied herself tidying the flat. Not that it really needed to be cleaned, now that she’d reluctantly given Misty permission to clean the small flat it was almost continuously in a pristine state of perfection. With Draco gone, Misty had begun leaving baked goods, and even full meals, waiting for Hermione.

Hermione plucked a muffin off the benchtop and munched on it reluctantly. She hadn’t wanted a house-elf. She hadn’t wanted muffins to appear at her mere thought of them, but Misty was determined, and there was only so many times Hermione could say no when her stomach was growling at the sight of the food. On the bright side, she’d have something to offer Ginny and Harry when they arrived.

It had been too long since Hermione had seen them. W.O.F. was busier than ever, the additional donation from Malfoy Industries had fulfilled the funding for multiple projects, and now everyone was rushing around madly trying to get things moving. W.O.F. had already been mentioned four times in the Daily Prophet with all the new projects in full swing, but thankfully Hermione had gone unmentioned, one of the few perks of managing multiple projects rather than being the face of a single cause.

Hermione’s floo roared to life just as she was finishing her first muffin and eyeing off a second.

“Good morning!” Ginny said happily, bounding through the small flat towards Hermione. “How are you? Are you showing yet? How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? Should I-”

Hermione was crushed into a typical Weasley hug before she could greet Ginny or even register her numerous questions.

“Ginny, love, try letting Hermione breathe.” Harry chuckled at his wife as he entered the flat.

“Sorry!” Ginny gasped, releasing Hermione and inspecting her for damage carefully. “But how are you? It feels like it’s been ages!”

“Ginny, it’s barely been two weeks.” Hermione laughed.

“Exactly.” Ginny groaned, flopping onto the couch, “Ages.”

Harry kissed Hermione on the cheek after rolling his eyes at his wife. Weasleys- incapable of not being around each other at all times, even when it drove them all barmy.

“How are you?” Harry asked.

“Good,” Hermione said, smiling. She’d missed them, even if it had only been a couple of weeks. “I saw Padma the other night, she said to say ‘hi’.”

Ginny’s head popped back over the couch, eyes glinting mischievously.

“I know, Padma wrote me a fascinating letter.” Ginny said, “I heard Draco was there.”

Ginny extended out Draco’s name dramatically and rolled the ‘r’ with mocking seduction. Hermione tried not to blush as Ginny’s smile grew wider.

“Yes,” Hermione said, voice squeaking. “And Blaise.”

Harry dropped onto the sofa next to his wife, watching curiously. Hermione lingered by the kitchen, knowing that sitting down would be giving into Ginny’s interrogation. She’d weasel every last word of the evening if she could. Hermione bit her lip, unsure where to start. The last time she’d seen the Potter’s she quite firmly told them that she and Draco were friends, only friends, and doing quite well at it. Fighting over presumed flirtation and getting caught cuddling did not seem like brilliant arguing points for her cause.

Ginny was leaning forward, about to ask something else when she was distracted by the tap at Hermione’s window. Hermione quickly unlocked the window and let Apollo in, he followed his usual routine and settled himself comfortably in the flat, liver treat already swallowed whole.

“Is that Malfoy’s owl?” Ginny asked curiously as she watched the bird settle itself.

“Yes.” Hermione said, “He’s in France at the moment.”

Letter in hand, Hermione flicked at the envelope’s opening. It would be rude to open it when her guests had just arrived, wouldn’t it?

“Oh gods, woman.” Ginny sighed dramatically with a coy smile not fully concealed on her lips, watching Hermione deliberate over the letter for another twenty seconds. “Open it!”

Hermione nodded slowly, attempting to affect an air of casual curiosity, then tore open the small envelope.

**_Hermione,_ **

**_I’m sure France is grand, but so far all I’ve seen is the inside of meeting rooms. Next time I’ll bring you with me, and you can drag me to as many muggle museums as you want. I’ll probably die of boredom but at least you’ll be happy._ **

**_I’ll be back on Monday, your appointment at St Mungo’s is still on Tuesday, correct? If it’s moved let me know so I can get out of this country. Preferably move it to tomorrow, I am sick of baguettes and old men talking about the price of dragon eggshells._ **

**_You updated me on week eight but what about nine? What fruit is the Speck currently? Muggles have the strangest methods of measuring things._ **

**_D.M._**

**_P.S. Do not ruin that bird, he’s incredibly expensive and well trained. I don’t want to come back to him as round as a pigeon._ **

****

With a glance at Ginny and Harry, both of whom watched her curiously from the sofa but quickly busied themselves in the awaiting muffins when they saw Hermione looking at them. Hermione frowned at them but grabbed a piece of parchment to scribble a note back to Draco.

_Draco,_

_The appointment is on Tuesday. You’ll just have to survive until then. I can think of worse things than baguettes to suffer, have you recently tried morning sickness? It will quickly change your perspective._

Hermione grinned at her rushed scribblings. The sly grin on her face uncontrollable as she thought about touring museums with Draco, dragging him to all the great muggle sites. Harry’s voice broke through Hermione’s daydreams and stopped her quill’s scratching.

“She’d giddy,” Harry muttered to Ginny, who rolled her eyes at him. “Look at her, she looks like a bloody teenage girl. She didn’t even look like that at Hogwarts.”

Ginny laughed as Hermione ignored them. She folded the letter away, determined to finish it later without the running commentary from Harry and Ginny. She supposed she should be paying attention to them anyhow; her mother would chide her for neglecting her guests. Although the Potters classified more as furniture than guests in Hermione’s flat.

“Actually,” Harry said, “she looks like she did when she had a crush on Lockhart.”

Hermione’s eyes finally snapped up, and she glared at Harry.

“I did not have a crush on Professor Lockhart!” She yipped loudly, scrunching Malfoy’s letter in her hand and hiding it behind her back.

“Oh please, everyone had a crush on Lockhart,” Ginny said with a grin.

Harry wrinkled his nose at his wife and then turned back to look at Hermione. His bright eyes stared at her curiously from behind those round glasses. Hermione shuffled uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“Oh, Blimey.” He said finally, eyes wide and brow furrowed. “You like him. You like Malfoy.”

Hermione gulped,

“I-” She stuttered, “No. I-I’m just… we’re friends…”

Hermione was trying, she was really trying to just be friends with Draco. They couldn't be anything else, history and logic told Hermione that anything more would be disastrous. So why did she grin like a damn fool every time she got a letter from him? Why did the mention of him making her happy make Hermione want to burst into tears and throw herself at a man who wasn’t even present? Pregnancy be damned, she liked his company, she liked the way he felt touching her, holding her, kissing her.

Harry shook his head.

“Oh, you _really_ like him,” Harry whispered, mouth slack and voice aghast. “Come on, Hermione, if I can see it surely you can. I’m frequently told I’m completely oblivious when it comes to romance, but bloody hell, it’s written all over your face. You just lit up when you read that letter.”

Hermione stared at the letter in her hand. Her mouth opened and closed wildly, trying to think of something. She let out an awkward guffawing laugh, one that should have been followed by a quick and decisive rebuttal of all feelings, yet nothing came out of her mouth. Hermione gulped, and Harry crossed his arms sternly.

“Unless he’s just promised to buy you every book in Britain, Hermione Granger, you have feelings for Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione tried not to meet Harry’s eyes, she glanced at Ginny, who was mirthlessly clutching at her sides and laughing silently at the clueless Golden duo.

Every piece of resolve in Hermione broke, all the walls she’d built over the weeks crumbled as Harry stared at her. Hermione had managed to convince herself she and Draco were just friends, that she only wanted to be friends, but the second Harry bloody Potter had told her she liked Draco she’d been pummelled by the wave of realisation. There was only so much denial one person could heap onto themselves. If Harry could tell how much Draco affected her, then Hermione was in far deeper than she thought.

“I like Draco.” Hermione groaned, burying her head in her hands as Ginny roared. “I like him a lot. Like, a lot more than friends.”

Ginny wiped her eyes and Harry continued to stare at her.

“Oh, god.” Ginny wheezed. “I’m so glad the two of you have caught up. Thank Merlin, Voldemort never tried to seduce his way to power or you two dunderheads never would have saved us.”

 _Merlin_ , what was she meant to do now?

* * *

Hermione paced nervously. _Merlin. Bollocks. Twatting idiotic fudge balls_. She couldn’t do this. She didn’t know how to be normal in front of him now. _Bollocks._

Hermione paced some more.

She’d managed to finish the short letter she’d penned to Draco on the weekend. ‘Finish’ might have been a loose term; she’d signed her name to it after dropping and then _Evanesco_ ing several ink blots when she couldn’t think of anything further to add. She’d tried to be funny, or witty, or anything other than awkward and nervous. How had she suddenly gone from incredibly comfortable in his presence and lighting up when his letters arrived, to practically sweating at the very idea of seeing him?

Now he was late. Hermione continued to pace up and down the hallway of St Mungo’s maternity ward, the father of her child, who’d written both Sunday and Monday reminding her that he would be there was already ten minutes late. Hermione was a nervous wreck, she didn’t know what she was meant to say when she saw him.

Ginny had informed Hermione that she just needed to come clean, ask Draco on a date and, preferably, shag his brains out. Harry, still dubious of their old school rival, had cautioned her to think about it, did she really want to get into a serious relationship now with a baby on the way. However, he had given her his blessing if she did decide she wanted to be with the Malfoy, and a warning he’d hex Draco if he hurt her.

The problem was, Hermione wasn’t sure what she wanted. To shag Draco’s brains out, to have him cuddle her and kiss her all day long? Yes, absolutely, she’d dreamed about it continually since Saturday. But the rest of it, a real relationship with compromise and responsibilities and consequences? Hermione didn’t know if she could handle that. What if Draco didn’t want anything serious? He was affectionate, especially when drunk, but that didn’t mean he wanted anything more. Didn’t it?

“Miss Granger?”

Hermione looked up, a young man in healer robes stood at the far end of the waiting room.

“Yes,” Hermione said, walking towards him. “That’s me.”

The healer had a young round face, terribly pointy ears and short black hair. Hermione instinctively looked around for Linda, she’d said she would be Hermione’s primary carer. It looked like Draco wasn’t the only one missing from her appointment so far.

“I’m Healer Euan Abercrombie.” He said, somehow looking less than confident about his own name. “Healer Andrews- Linda that is, she’s been delayed with another birth. Do you mind if I start your ultrasound without her?”

Hermione bit the inside of her lip. Healer Abercrombie was young, and although Hermione refused to judge a person’s professional capabilities on their age, nothing about the man was comforting. It made Hermione miss Linda’s warm personality all the more, even when Hermione had been receiving shocking news Linda had made her feel cared for. She’d already reconciled herself that if Draco hadn’t shown up, at least she’d had the kindly healer with her. Now it seemed Hermione was on her own, or on her own with Healer Abercrombie. Personally, Hermione thought she might actually feel better on her own than with the man staring at her rather peculiarly.

“It’s fine.” Hermione nodded.

It was just an ultrasound; she would survive one appointment without Linda and Draco.

Healer Abercrombie was quiet as he ushered Hermione in the room. It looked no different from the last time she’d been there, crowded with informational pamphlets and health orientated posters but still clinical and white.

They went through some basic questions, mostly about Hermione’s symptoms. All of which she was informed were normal and to be expected. Despite the professional discussion and aloof tone Abercrombie adopted Hermione couldn’t help but feel he was somewhat anxious. His overly large ears twitched every time she spoke, and he stared over her head at the blank wall behind her head. Hermione tried to ignore it, some people simply didn’t like eye contact, she reminded herself. It didn’t mean he was uncomfortable with her in particular.

“If you could lie back and lift your shirt.” Healer Abercrombie asked when they reached the conclusion of his questions.

Hermione did as she was told, shifting herself on the examination table to get comfortable. Abercrombie’s hand shook as he pressed his wand against her exposed skin. The ultrasound, flickering into existence in the air above them trembled along with his hand. Hermione squinted at the image, trying to recognise anything from all the reading she’d done. Perhaps she’d need to invest in some more medical style books, the grey static still meant nothing to her.

“Did you go to Hogwarts?” Hermione asked, trying to make this whole experience a little less awkward. The young healer tried to smile, one side of his mouth pulling back nervously.

“Yes, briefly.” He said, “I was a few years younger than you. I started Hogwarts in ’95 but only spent two years there.”

He paused,

“My parents moved us to France, so I could go to Beauxbaton after…”

Hermione nodded; a lot of people hadn’t returned with the war. Only a few made it out of Britain before Voldemort enforced mandatory attendance laws for Hogwarts students. Hermione tried to steer the question away from Hogwarts and the war as the young man’s hand wobbled more.

“They sound like good parents.” She said.

“Yes.” He said, “My father died in the war, he came to Britain, and well, he never came back.”

“I’m sorry.”

So much for getting further away from his source of pain, Hermione had basically thrown it in his face. Hermione, even after the numerous years of functions and memorials, still didn’t know how to comfort people about their losses. She still struggled some days with her own, there were too many people to grieve.

“I hardly think you of all people should be sorry, Miss Granger,” Abercrombie said quietly, staring at his wand. “Without you… anyway, thank you.”

Hermione opened her mouth, but Healer Abercrombie pointed to the ultrasound.

“That’s a heartbeat right there.”

Hermione stared at it. The gentle flickering of the black and grey, a tiny heartbeat was pounding solidly in the air: the Speck, her speck.

 _Hi Speck_ , Hermione thought, _I’m your mum_. 

The door creaked, distracting Hermione from the soft sound.

“Hello.” Linda poked her head into the room with a smile, “Sorry I’m late Miss Granger.”

“It’s not a problem.” Hermione smiled at the healer, already her warm face lightening the atmosphere of the room.

Linda stepped into the room and gestured behind her,

“Look who I found in the corridor.”

Black cloaked and blonde hair messed atop his head; the sight of Draco almost took Hermione’s breath away. She’d missed him, more than she wanted to admit. She wanted to kiss him the moment he smiled at her from across the now crowded room.

“Hi.” He said, crossing to her. “Sorry I’m late, an issue with the Port Key office.”

“It’s alright.” Hermione smiled, “You’re here now.”

It only took him two strides to cross the room and reach for her. Draco’s hand found hers, warm and strong as it engulfed her own. Hermione could feel her skin heating, a ball of sweat beaded on the back of her neck and she looked at Draco nervously.

 _I like you more than a friend!_ She wanted to shout, to just get it out and admit she was a damn fool. Weeks of posturing and demanding distance when all she wanted now was for those soft pink lips to lean down and capture her own.

“Is that my Speck?” He asked, looking up at the image.

Healer Abercrombie flinched back as Draco pulled a chair towards himself, sitting next to Hermione. Abercrombie stared at Draco, his jaw clenched and the gentle smile he’d given Hermione gone now. He flicked his wand and yanked the solidified image as he shoved it towards Hermione. The paperwork he had been recording Hermione’s answers on clattered to the desk loudly.

“Congratulations.” He muttered to her before turning to Linda, voice tight and strained. “Ultrasounds fine, everything is normal.”

Linda looked caught aback. She nodded curtly and frowned at Abercrombie pushed past her and left the room. The door closed with a loud click behind him. Linda cleared her throat as she turned to Hermione and Draco.

“How are you feeling, Hermione?” She said, smiling and taking the file from the desk. “It says you’ve been experiencing some morning sickness?”

Morning sickness was currently the last of her concerns, her stomach was doing backflips at Draco’s presence. Merlin, how had she thought she only wanted to be friends, being in his presence without touching him set her heart racing, and her tongue felt as if it had stuck itself to the roof of her mouth.

Hermione nodded at Linda, handing the ultrasound to Draco as she righted her top and sat up properly. She had to try and ignore the volts that run under her skin as he brushed his thumb against her hand.

“Yes, most mornings but Healer Abercrombie said that was quite normal for the first trimester,” Hermione said awkwardly.

Linda nodded,

“Certainly, but please contact me if you feel it gets worse or unmanageable.”

Linda went over most of the same questions, but Hermione answered almost robotically, already having received similar responses from Abercrombie. Draco listened raptly, his thumb circling on the skin of Hermione’s hand gently. He didn’t even seem bothered when a pamphlet shot out of the shelves and bumped him on the cheek.

“I just need a moment to check on something,” Linda said a while later. “Then if you don’t mind too much, Hermione, I might take another look at your ultrasound.”

Hermione nodded, not minding at all if she got another look at the Speck. It had been abruptly cut short with Abercrombie, and she’d barely had the chance to look at the image before it was gone.

As the door closed behind Linda, the room grew exponentially smaller. She was now alone with Draco, and as he lifted her hand, he kissed it gently.

“I’m sorry about being late.” He said again.

Hermione smiled at him, heart pounding at the touch. She’d missed him, she’d missed his presence and his warmth almost painfully. Was this normal? Surely this kind of overwhelming want was unhealthy?

“It’s fine,” Hermione said, trying to smile but feeling her lips pull tight at the corners.

“Are you sure?” Draco frowned and scanned her face, “You look…”

“Oh, I’m fine.” Hermione tried waving her hand nonchalantly in the air and almost hit herself in the face.

Draco’s frown became bemused, and Hermione twittered nervously. Gods, she’d turned into a madwoman.

“I missed you,” Draco said, rubbing another circle on her hand.

“I-uh,” Hermione gulped, almost blurting out a rather inappropriate anatomical part she had missed about him. She desperately searched her brain for a more appropriate response. “Apollo, uh, he’s a good bird.”

Draco arched an eyebrow, and honestly, Hermione almost did the same. Did she really just respond to ‘I miss you’ with ‘I like your bird’?

Draco stood up, leaning against the examination table she sat on and looked at her in concern. Clearly her attempts at being calm and collected had gone out of the window. Hermione sighed and stared at her hands. No, actually, staring at her hands meant staring at his and that wasn’t helping her desperate need for composure. _You are a smart witch, Hermione Jean Granger, sort your blood feelings out!_

“Are you sure everything is alright, Hermione?” Draco asked softly. He reached up and tucked a loose curl that had escaped its bonds.

Hermione looked up, startled by how soft and gentle his voice was. How was it that he had been so incredibly compassionate throughout all of this mess?

“You didn’t respond to my last couple of letters.” Draco probed again.

Hermione realised she’d just been frowning at him instead of answering.

“Sorry,” She mumbled, “I’ve been busy, you know, working and things. Lots of… things.”

 _Fantasising about you. Thinking about how much of an idiot I am. Wondering what you could do with those hands._ Hermione shook herself, she was getting sidetracked.

“Right.” Draco frowned, and Hermione shifted uncomfortably.

She was being awkward, and she knew it. She just didn’t know how to make it stop. This was new territory for her. Keeping Draco at a distance had been like second nature, she’d been trying to ignore the boy for years, but now, as a man, when she wanted to get closer to him, she was nothing more than a blabbering idiot.

She needed to do something, say something. Hermione was still frowning at Draco for what had now been an uncomfortable number of minutes.

“France.” She said too loudly, “uh, it was good. France that is?”

Draco nodded slowly, still frowning back at her.

“It was fine. I would have rather been here.”

Hermione nodded, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

“Right.” She muttered “because of the boardrooms.”

“I suppose.”

Hermione licked her lips nervously; her voice was too high pitched and she tried smiling, but it was painful and tight. _Brilliant_ , she thought, _not looking like a crazy person at all there, Hermione._

“I miss you.” Hermione blurted then, realising she hadn’t said it earlier. “Missed, I mean. I missed you. Because you’re here now. So missed, in the past. Past tense.”

 _Good work, hyper-fixation on tense will make you seem less weird_. Draco’s eyebrow quirked, and she couldn’t tell if he thought her ramblings amusing or if he was just wondering if she’d lost her mind entirely.

“I missed you, too.” He said finally, the deep purr of his voice making Hermione’s insides quiver.

Hermione couldn’t help it, she stared at his lips as he smirked at her. She knew exactly what they felt like on hers, even if it had been almost a month since they’d last kissed. _Gods_ , had it already been that long?

She hadn’t had sex since then, obviously, and her hand just never seemed to make her toes curl the way Draco could. She could get herself to the cusp of the orgasm, but each time it seemed to fall flat, barely a simmer compared to the boiling pleasure of having Draco’s length push up inside her.

Hermione squeezed her thighs as she thought about it. A heightened libido could be a symptom during pregnancy, and Hermione had honestly been hoping to be one of those women who it seemed to skip by, but from the desire than pooled in her now, she was most certainly not in luck. Draco cocked his head to the side, looking at her curiously but Hermione could only stare at the lean muscles of his neck. What she wouldn’t do to be able to get her lips on his pressure point, she’d leave him marked and claimed as her own.

“Draco,” Hermione breathed, her voice weak and needy even to her own ears.

Before she could continue, the door opened again, making Hermione jump and half topple off the examination table.

“Sorry,” Linda said, entering with a smile. “I didn’t mean to take so long.”

“It’s not a problem.” Hermione squeaked, while Draco re-seated himself.

“I’ve got the results of your bloodwork, and everything looks good.” Linda smiled. “Did you want to retake a look at that ultrasound?”

Hermione looked nervously at Draco and then Linda. Draco looked at her and smiled, one of the soft genuine smiles that make her want to kiss him all over again.

“I,” Hermione had to look away, she had been hoping that seeing Draco again after his trip would dampen her feelings. Hermione had hoped she had built it all up in her head, the way he looked at her, and that she’d been able to get a hold of her affections. It appeared to be a foolish errand now, seeing him had only made it worse. “I think, actually, I need to go.”

What she needed was to think about how she was going to tell Draco she wanted to be more than friends with him. Could she even do that? She’d been quite firm about nothing getting into anything with him for the past month. What if he didn’t want to be anything more than friends?

Hermione bit her lip, avoiding eye contact with Draco.

“Healer Abercrombie said everything looked fine, right?”

“Ah, yes,” Linda said, clearly trying to wipe the confused look from her face and present a professional outlook.

“Good, great,” Hermione said, resting one hand protectively on her stomach. “I’ll see you for the thirteen-week check-up?”

“Yes, of course.” Linda said, “If there is anything before then if you have any questions, please feel free to contact me.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, already trying to skirt out of the room.

She knew Draco was frowning, it was like his irritated gaze burned down she spine as she shuffled out of the room. He followed, and Hermione fiddled nervously with her bag as she walked towards the elevator.

“Hermione.” Draco snapped, catching up to her at the elevator doors.

“Yes?” She said, trying to stare at the elevator doors and not in his grey eyes in case she told him they were liked falling into a blinding star.

The elevator door dinged, and they both stepped into the empty box. As the doors closed again, Draco touched her arm.

“Hermione.” He said, this time firmer like he was no longer amused by her awkward ramblings. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Hermione sighed. “I just have a lot on my mind, Draco.”

If they were together, would they last? Communication may be an issue, although Hermione was perfectly aware that it was her fault currently. They had a bad history, what if all the sexual attraction fell away and they were the same old arguing rivals?

It would end poorly, and there would be a child in the mix this time. There would be no quick, easy split. At least with Ron, Hermione had simply dumped all his remaining belongings and left them at Harry’s house with a note for Ron to collect them. She’d been tempted to burn the lot, all the things he hadn’t taken himself when he’d left with Lavender.

She couldn’t very well dump a child in a box if she and Draco didn’t work. They wouldn’t even be able to cease contact when it all ended terribly.

Hermione rubbed a hand across her face.

“Sorry.” She mumbled, “I’m just busy right now.”

Draco nodded, his face going cold as she pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders. He stood straight and stiffly as the elevator descended slowly.

“You should probably get out first,” Hermione said quietly. “In case anyone sees us.”

“Of course,” said Draco. “We wouldn’t want that.”

The press was just another complication. Hermione doubted all the galleons in the Malfoy vaults could keep the Prophet from publicising their relationship should they have one. Their split would be even worse, everything dredged up for the world to dissect.

The elevator doors dinged, interrupting their painful silence. Draco glanced at Hermione once, his face pinched and brow furrowed deeply, then swept gracefully out the doors. Hermione leant against the cool metal, resting her head in her hands.

Clearly, Draco was angry at her, but how could she explain to him that while her feelings had changed that they were too complicated, too doomed to even consider.

* * *

Hermione lay on her sofa, trying not to cry.

She’d ridden the elevator of St Mungo’s for a while before finally making her way home. She was miserable. She hadn’t meant to be awkward; she hadn’t meant for it to come off as cold.

Apollo was gone, returned to his owner, and the flat felt emptier than it had in years. She missed Crookshanks, he had been her constant companion for so long it still ached some evenings when she was alone.

When she’d arrived back at the flat Hermione had been met with two tiny soft knitted blankets and an envelope. The blankets where finely knitted, with incredibly soft wool that matched the booties. One a pale green and the other a delightful yellow, Hermione wondered if Misty already knew the sex of the baby, much like she’d known of the pregnancy before she should have, and was purposefully trying to avoid the typical gendered colours. Hermione paused as she placed the blankets with the ever-growing pile of knitted clothing atop her dresser; they were all soft shades of green, yellow, purple or white.

It could be a coincidence, Hermione wasn’t even sure if Pureblood family used the same pink and blue colour schemes for the different sexes as muggles did. It was something she added to the ever-growing list of questions she never seemed to get around to asking Draco. 

Hermione picked up the envelope that had come with the blankets. Draco’s neat writing curled across the front.

**_Hermione,_ **

**_At this point, I’m not sure if I have done something to upset you or if you are genuinely just busy. I think the former, however. Although you haven’t replied to my letters since Saturday, I thought written correspondence might be preferable to me bothering you again today._ **

**_I am aware that this has been a less than ideal situation, you never intended to shackle yourself with me, and it would be unfair for me to force you into my presence. If I have overstepped and made you uncomfortable, then I apologise._ **

**_If you are simply preoccupied with your work, then you are at liberty to rip this letter into as many pieces as you wish, however, Misty forced me to write something so that she could present these blankets to you and I do want to know if you are alright._ **

**_D.M._ **

Hermione ground her palms into her face, not sure if she should cry or laugh. Not want him in her presence… that’s all she wanted but how could it ever work. Hermione tried to put the letter aside and turned on the television to distract herself.

It didn’t work. Hermione uncrumpled the letter and re-read it. Overstepped. Draco hadn’t overstepped, possibly a little at the bar but she hadn’t exactly been innocent in that. Everything that he had written to her and his presence at St Mungo’s had only been comforting. Yet she was still scared to let him in. It would hurt too much if Draco really was the kind man he presented himself to be, to lose him when they inevitably broke up.

Hermione paced around the living room, one hand on her stomach while she muttered to herself. She went in circles, trying to work out what she could say to Draco to reassure him that he had done nothing wrong and it was she who had a problem.

Hermione sighed. She needed some advice.

It was dark outside as she tossed the floo powder into her fireplace and stepped through to a place she knew someone would be able to give her the painful, undiluted truth.

Hermione entered the Potter’s sitting room to find it dim, with only the light of the television illuminating the couch where Ginny sat curled in a blanket.

“Hermione.” Ginny said in surprise, biscuit crumbles tumbling out of her mouth, “What’s going on?”

Hermione’s chin trembled; tears built in her eyes but she swiped them away angrily. She was sick to death of crying.

“I think I bollocksed everything up with Draco.” She mumbled, one repugnant tear rolling defiantly down her cheek.

“Oh,” Ginny said sympathetically. “Come here.”

Ginny held out both arms, inviting Hermione in for a hug which she longed for terribly. Hermione folded herself onto the couch, tucking her head under Ginny’s chin and cuddling into her redheaded friend.

“Here,” Ginny mumbled, shoving something crinkly and loud under Hermione’s nose. “Have a biscuit and tell me what happened.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so before you all yell at me... I know Hermione is being a bit of a prat right now but we'll go most into it in the next chapter, I promise.  
> Thank you everyone who had left kudos or comment so far, you guys are amazing and reading all the responses makes my heart very happy!!  
> Until chapter 10,  
> Nif.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellomynameisnifandihavenotsleptin37hoursandfinishededitingthischapterfueledonblackcoffeeandthesunrise(hotlikerhondadoublepointstowhoevergetsthatreference)goodmorningandgoodluck! 
> 
> Woo, ok, I'm fine. Sleep is for the weak, I'm totally fine.  
> I wanted this chapter out on Sunday but it's Monday morning now. I'll still count it as Sunday because I haven't gone to bed yet. Oops.  
> Anyway, it's about time to shake some sense into our girl, don't you agree?  
> Call in the hounds (that means you, Ginny.)

Harry grumbled in his sleep, hand feeling out unconsciously until it reached the warm body of his wife. He slipped his hand across the smooth skin, over a waist and up until-

Harry’s hand was suddenly, and very painfully, smacked by another.

“Harry Potter, what the hell are you doing?”

Harry’s head jerked up,

“Huh?” He mumbled, looking down at his wife’s blurry brown hair. _Wait_. Harry grabbed his glasses off the bedside table, almost poking himself in the eye as he jammed them on his face. He looked down, staring into the red, round eyes of Hermione Granger.

“Ah!” he shouted, shooting back across the bed as he realised he’d been only moments away from groping his best friends’ breast. Harry teetered for a moment, trying to snag the covers with his hand unsuccessfully as he toppled backwards, arse first out of bed.

He landed with a thump and stared up, legs still hanging over the mattress as both the heads of Hermione Granger, not his wife, and Ginevra Weasley-Potter, definitely his wife, popped over the edge looking at him.

“Harry, what are you doing?” asked Hermione.

“I- blimey, Hermione, I almost…”

Ginny sniggered,

“Trying to feel up other women in your sleep, husband o’ mine?”

Harry blushed a deep scarlet red that would put any Weasley to shame.

“Well, I… I bloody thought she was you, didn’t I?” He stuttered, looking up at them.

Both women giggled at him.

“What are you doing in our bed, Hermione?” Harry asked, rubbing his eyes. “Again.”

* * *

After the almost-groping Hermione, Harry and Ginny decided to relocate to the sitting room. Tea was made, and Hermione sat on the armchair while Harry, bleary-eyed and rumpled hair, yawned from the sofa.

“So, you’ve realised you have feelings for Malfoy?” he said, “and now, what? You don’t know if you want to be with him?”

“Yes… Sort of… I don’t know… No?”

“No, you don’t like him, or no, you don’t want to be with him?” Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes despite having more rest than either Ginny or Hermione. He had already been in bed when Hermione arrived. Ginny had let Hermione cry herself out on the sofa while trying to explain what had happened, but it had mostly condensed down to ‘I liked his bird’. Ginny had dragged the exhausted witch to their bed and told her they would talk in the morning.

Hermione frowned, “Neither?”

It was morning now, and she was less than enthused to have this conversation.

“You’ve lost me.”

“She thinks she’s screwed it up.” Ginny’s muffled voice entered the room. The witch carried a plate of crumpets, sitting them on the coffee table and taking the one she was holding with her mouth in her hand. “but clearly you like him, and he likes you so-”

“Ginny, you’ve barely even seen us together. How could you possibly know that?” Hermione’s voice was petulant, sharp and bordered on rude as she snatched a crumpet off the table. Ginny’s eyes narrowed as Hermione nervously bit into the buttery goodness, for someone who had just bed-crashed she was being antagonistic. She just didn’t want to have this conversation.

“Oh, I see how this is going to be.” Ginny set her jaw, meeting Hermione’s stubborn look. “I’m getting Padma.”

“What-”

“You heard me!”

“Ginny, don’t!” Hermione pleaded, abandoning her crumpet. “It’s so early-”

“She’ll be awake.”

“But-”

“No.” Ginny was pulling shoes on by then, an old cloak already shoved over her pyjamas. “You’re getting the full intervention.”

“I don’t need one!”

“You do.” Ginny said, “In fact, I think it’s well overdue.”

Ginny was gone, stepping into the floo before Hermione could stop her. She flopped onto the sofa and groaned. There would be no escape now, even if she dared be enough of a coward to flee through the floo.

“Crumpet?” Harry offered.

Hermione munched unhappily on the food while they waited for Padma to arrive. Sometimes she missed only being friends with the boys. Harry and Ron’s versions of emotional conversations were exceedingly limited, their complex emotion language combined could fill a teaspoon. Ginny, on the other hand, thought it was important to voice emotions. Hermione had liked it when Ginny had forced Harry out of his shell after the war, she’d coaxed him into processing his pain and survivors guilt. She was less enthused when Ginny turned it on her.

“He has feelings for you.” Padma stepped out of the floo, barely waiting before she crossed her arms over her chest and tutted at Hermione. “If he’s not in love with you already then he’s most certainly on the way.”

“Ha!” Ginny followed through the floo, catching the last part of Padma’s conversation.

“Padma!” Hermione said, “How can you say that?”

Padma shrugged. She took a crumpet offered by Harry. She’d obviously been awake when Ginny arrived, already well-groomed and dressed in tailored robes.

“Ginny said you’re being stubborn.” Padma sat across from her, “Are you going to pretend you don’t have feelings for Malfoy?”

“That’s still so weird,” Harry mumbled. He received three looks that had him curling up with the crumpet plate as he gulped, “Sorry.”

“No.” Hermione sighed as she looked back at Padma. “I know it’s weird, but I do. I really like him.”

“Finally,” Padma muttered.

“But you don’t want to be in a relationship with him?” Ginny confirmed.

Hermione’s heart clenched. It’s not that she didn’t want to be with Draco. She wanted desperately to feel him touch her again, to kiss her, to press himself against her skin. She wanted to be able to snog him on the steps of St Mungo’s and wake up every morning in the sunlight, watching his blonde hair glow in the light.

What she didn’t want was the crashing and the burning and the excruciating pain when they came to the inevitable end. She didn’t want to feel the pain of him being gone from her life, only for him to linger when they had to raise a child together. She didn’t want to see him with another woman, living a life they had failed to create.

“I can’t.” Hemione said, “We can’t. It won’t work, Ginny, I just know it will end terribly.”

Ginny pursed her lips and exchanged a look with Padma. Padma let out an annoyed huff. She stood up, pushed Hermione’s knee so she could sink onto the sofa next to her and smacked her arm.

“Alright, Granger, listen up,” she said, voice firm and authoritarian. “We’ve been gentle the last few months. I was hoping we could lead you to the water and you’d work it out from there, but apparently, you’re too damn stubborn.”

Hermione lifted her head off the back of the seat, she frowned as she looked at Ginny and Padma. The redhead's eyebrows were tense, and she had no pity in her eyes anymore. Padma laid one hand on Hermione’s arm. 

“Consider this your dose of tough love.” Padma cleared her throat, “You are denying your feelings about Malfoy, and the fact that you want to be with him because you have unresolved feelings about Ron.”

Hermione gapped at Padma. Then Ginny, who shrugged, and Harry, who avoided her gaze by staring at the holes of the last crumpet.

“I-what...” Hermione stuttered; her pitch high as she squawked “I bloody well do not have unresolved feelings for Ronald.”

Padma raised an eyebrow,

“I’m not saying you’re still in love with him, but I don’t think you’ve fully processed the end of your marriage. Not really, you’ve stuffed it down and thrown yourself into work and ignored what happened.”

Ginny was nodding along with Padma’s assessment.

“I’ve moved on from Ron, I didn’t even read that stupid article about his baby. Why would this have anything to do with him?”

Hermione glared at Padma, but it didn’t seem to faze her. She was too logical to be swayed into submission just from one of Hermione’s glares. She tried to aim it at Ginny, but that similarly was rebuffed. Harry looked like he wanted to melt into the sofa when Hermione looked at him.

“Hermione, Ron cheated on you,” Padma said, forcing Hermione to look at her again. “I know that all got a bit swept under the rug and personally I don’t think you’ve ever really dealt with how much that hurt you.”

“I don’t have feelings about Ron anymore!” Hermione threw her hands up, exasperated by this ambush of a conversation. “I barely even think about him. I realised pretty quickly that I was better off without him. No offence.”

“None taken, I agree.” Ginny shrugged, “But cheating, especially leaving you so abruptly like that, it leaves scars, Hermione. I know you’ve moved on, and I’m very proud of you for it but don’t you think it could be affecting the way you are reacting to Malfoy?”

“No. They’re completely different situations.”

“Really?” Padma leant forward, “So you’re not having a hard time trusting Malfoy because Ron, the man you loved and your best friend, cheated on you, got another woman pregnant and left you without so much as a conversation?”

Hermione bit her lip. _No_ , she thought, _no, they weren’t right_. Ron didn’t hurt her anymore; she didn’t care about him. She’d handled Lavender giving birth with relative ease, she’d been far more concerned about her relationship with Draco. _You mean when you presumed he was flirting with another woman,_ a little voice reminded her harshly.

“No?” Hermione whispered, but she felt her face going white.

“And you didn’t jump to any conclusions about Astoria?” Padma asked.

“Well,” Hermione licked her lips nervously, “but he said-”

“I know what he said.” Padma nodded, “and it was dick-ish, but you walked away, Hermione. Rather than communicate with Malfoy about what he said, you presumed you knew his motives and left.”

“I-”

“I know Ron never talked about his emotions, and you had to guess what was going on in that thick head of his all the time.” Ginny came to sit on the other side of Hermione, barely fitting the fourth person onto the two-seat design. “but you’re not with Ron anymore.”

“Have you ever asked Malfoy about his feelings?” Padma asked,

Hermione’s head swivelled to look at the woman.

“I-”

“Or did make up your mind before he had the chance,” Ginny said, making Hermione swing her head again. They were talking too fast now, rolling off one another before Hermione could really process their words.

“He had a chance.” She stuttered.

“Because-” Padma grimaced a little as she looked at Ginny.

“Sometimes, Hermione...” Ginny returned the look.

“You go into your head. You make decisions without actually asking for input.”

“I ask!” Hermione yipped. She asked. She tried to ask. It was just that, most of the time, she never got replies. Ron had always told her to ‘just do what you think is best’, he never wanted to organise anything, to take responsibility. Hermione had just adapted to taking charge, it was easier than trying to needle any answer out of Ron. Most of the time that just ended in an argument and them not speaking for days at a time.

“And we don’t blame you,” Padma said, giving her a gentle smile.

“You had to with Ron.” Ginny said, “Bloody idiot of a man.”

“Right.” Padma nodded along, and Hermione swivelled her head back, her neck hurting as she tried to keep up. “He’s kind of a git when it comes to emotions.

“Hey.” Ginny’s tone dropped into a warning, “That’s my brother.”

“Sorry.”

“But she’s right. Instead of talking to you about his emotions, Ron left you. With a bleeding note.”

Hermione frowned, she couldn’t keep trying to watch the women talk. She stared at her knees, trying to work through the information pile that she was now buried under. Ron left her without so much as a ‘sorry, it’s not you, it’s me’, and Hermione had adapted however she could. She moved on, quickly, and took charge of her own life. She’d tried to heal by not lingering on what Ron had done but was that the wrong thing to do? Had she stopped dealing with her pain and just started taking it out on others? She hadn’t even been that surprised when she saw Draco talking to Astoria, hurt but unsurprised that a man might leave her for another woman. Hermione chewed on the inside of her lip anxiously. As she worried at it, she could taste the bitter copper of her blood. Padma laid her hand on Hermione’s shoulder, still talking.

“You never got closure.”

“You’re used to making decisions alone.”

“Alright!” Harry said, interrupting them. “I think she’d got the gist.”

Hermione was staring at her knees with a deep frown on her face. Padma and Ginny both pulled back, realising they might have been a little intense.

“Are you alright, ‘Mione?” Harry asked, leaning over to pat her knee.

“Just… uh, processing,” Hermione mumbled.

Had she steamrolled Draco into just going with her decisions? She had asked him if he wanted to be more than friends hadn’t she? Hermione chewed on her lip, trying to remember. Had she actually asked what he wanted… or just suggested they should be friends and asked if he agreed. ‘As you said, it’s for the best.’ That’s what he told her when she’d asked if he agreed they should be friends. Would his answer have been different if she’d asked him if he wanted to be something more than friends?

Hermione shook her head. If Draco did want something, why didn’t he just say so? Communication was a two-way street. Hermione had obviously faltered, maybe she’d talked herself into a corner and convinced herself they should only be friends before she had gotten Draco’s side but why couldn’t he just tell her if he had feelings for her? Hermione stood up sharply.

Had Hermione just missed the signs and come to the wrong conclusion? She had been struggling with her feelings for Draco for days, trying to re-convince herself that anything with Draco would end. End just like it had with Ron, only now, Hermione was even more afraid because the feelings she had for Draco were different. They were stronger, she realised. Hermione had believed herself in love with Ron because that is what everyone had told her she should be. No one in their right mind had thought to push Hermione towards Draco, but now here she was, smiling like a giddy school at his letters and flailing nervously whenever he was around.

What if Hermione and Draco could work for the same reasons she hadn’t with Ron? What if rather than ripping them apart the intensity of their feelings could keep them together. Their feelings… Hermione chewed her lips again, she didn’t know if there were any _their_ feelings. There were her feelings and the potential feelings she had never asked Draco about. Did he feel the same about her?

She needed to know.

“Hermione,” Harry said startled, “Everything alright?”

“I, uh… I have to go.” Hermione didn’t look at her friends as she threw floo powder into the small fire and called “Malfoy Manor!”

She needed to talk to Draco.

* * *

Hermione looked around the reception hall of the Malfoy Manor, it looked much quieter than the last time she had been there. She’d arrived, stepped out of the floo and instantly begun questioning her sanity. What was she doing? She should have owled or something. _Anything_. She’d just arrived unannounced and was now standing there, no idea how to find Draco in the large house.

To her surprise and horror, the man himself walked past the doorway just as Hermione was about to call for Misty. Draco was clearly not expecting guests, he walked steadily past the opening without looking up at her. Hermione winced, then watched as Draco stopped suddenly. Almost comically, he took a step back into the doorway and stared at her.

“Hi.” She waved a hand in his direction, lamely.

“Hermione?” Draco blinked, clearly confused with a coffee mug hanging in one hand. “What are you wearing?”

Hermione looked down. She was still wearing the pair of pyjama’s Ginny had leant her. An old Harpies jersey and shorts. Her bare feet were covered in soot.

“Uh, it’s a long story.”

“How did you even get in here?” Draco was staring at her. His hair was messed, and his pyjama bottoms hung loosely off his hips. Hermione tried not to focus on his bare chest.

“I floo’d,” Hermione said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She needed to keep up the momentum, she had to get this out before she tucked tail and ran. “I-”

“The floo’s are locked,” Draco said.

Hermione paused, finally stopped rocking and pointed to her stomach,

“Baby Malfoy, remember, big ward breaker in the oven.”

“Oh,” Draco said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Right.”

“Sorry,” Hermione said, suddenly realising. “It’s early. You were in bed. This was a bad idea.”

Hermione bit her lip and turned to leave, tail firmly tucked and ready for her to run. This had been stupid; Draco was in his pyjamas for goodness sakes. She was in pyjamas, and not even her own. Hadn’t she awoken enough people for one morning? It was the middle of the week, people had work and lives to get to without her barging into people’s homes with her grand emotional outbursts.

“Wait,” Draco said, “Hermione, is everything alright? Did something happen?”

“No.” Hermione let out a breathy laugh. Nothing had actually happened. Maybe she’d had her self perspective flipped on her head, but that was a bit hard to explain. She rested a hand over her stomach. “I’m fine, we’re fine.”

Draco nodded slowly.

“Are you sure? You seem…” He studied her face, then her clothes and her feet.

“I just, ah,” Hermione twisted her hands together, “I wanted to apologise for yesterday. I was weird.”

Draco lifted an eyebrow like ‘weird’ was an understatement.

“I didn’t mean to seem standoffish.” Hermione said, “And I do like your bird, but that was weird too. Um, but I mean… Merlin.”

_Brain meet tongue. Please learn to work at the same level_. She was rambling again, just trying to put words together. She really should have thought about what she was going to say before she stormed over here.

“Did I steamroll you?”

Draco frowned,

“Steamroll?” he said the word slowly like it was alien to him. Quite possibly, it was.

“Did I just… make decisions, and you agreed to them?”

“Oh,” Draco shuffled, “no?”

“You don’t seem sure.” Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

Draco only stared at his coffee cup.

“Let’s…” he hesitated. “Are you hungry?”

Hermione snorted, she wasn’t right now. Right now she wanted answers, but when Draco held out an arm to guide her to the kitchens, she let herself be directed down the long corridors of the Manor. As they reached the kitchen, Hermione turned to find Draco pulling a shirt over his head. He must have summoned it while they were walking. Though he was no longer half-naked, the tight material didn’t precisely distract from his impressive form. Despite sleeping together, this was one of the first times Hermione had ever seen him in the light.

He was well built, lean and strong. Veins travelled closely under the skin of his arms, and Hermione caught sight of the faded mark on his left arm. The Dark Mark, it’s remnants still present on his skin even after the years. It had faded to a pale red-tinted grey, but with Draco’s complexion, it was still evident. Nothing would ever remove it either, there would always be the mark of his past. Hermione knew Draco always wore long sleeves, usually in robes and a well-tailored suit. Most likely, he did not wish to draw any more attention to the stain. He had risen well in the eye of the public, but reminders like that would quickly have people doubting.

Noticing her gaze Draco shifted, folding the arm against his chest protectively.

“Coffee?” He asked, “or tea?”

Hermione shook her head,

“No, I’m fine. I just, I wanted to ask you something.”

“At,” Draco looked at the clock, “seven in the morning on a Wednesday?”

“Yes.” Hermione said, “I had an… well; it’s not exactly an epiphany if someone forces you to see sense is it?”

Draco only blinked. Hermione wondered if the man was capable of much this early in the morning, he still seemed dazed at her presence.

“Padma and Ginny had a bit of an intervention.” Hermione tried explaining.

“At seven in the morning?” Draco looked forlornly at his cup, and instantly it began filling, dark coffee pouring from nowhere. Misty must have been around then. Hopefully, if he drank some, he would be less fixated on time.

“Oh gods, yes, Draco at seven in the morning.” Hermione huffed, “I’m trying to have a kind of important moment here.”

“Right.” Draco grumbled, “Padma and Ginevra had an intervention… about me?”

“Yes, sort of… mostly about me,” Hermione frowned, she’d run out so quickly she was still trying to process everything. “and Ron.”

Draco coughed into his coffee.

“The Weasel?” He gasped, slamming the cup back down onto the counter and cursing as it sloshed over the edge and onto his hand. “Fuck.”

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked, reaching for him.

Draco flinched back.

“I’m fine.” He snapped, turning to the sink and running his hand under some water. “So the Weasel is back in the picture then?”

Hermione started pacing, barely hearing Draco words over the running water. She was still trying to catalogue her new thoughts, swinging her hands in front of her, she began jabbering.

“Right. See Ginny and Padma were trying to tell me I had unresolved feelings, and that was why I was doing all this so poorly. Our communication is clearly terrible, I mean I’m snapping at you then I’m running away, but we flirt by letter which just makes me all the more confused. And then I made these decisions, but really, I don’t think I ever asked you if you were ok with it, I just sort of decided what was for the best with the baby and me and how insane that whole thing is.”

“Granger!” Draco had to raise his voice for Hermione to look up.

“Huh?” She said, “Draco, I’m trying to tell you something.”

Draco was drying his hand with a small towel, scowling at the kitchen counter. His eyebrows knitted tightly together as his eyes bore into the marble.

“I get it.” He said somewhat calmly then snapped and growled, “Actually, I bloody don’t. What could you possibly be thinking?”

Hermione flinched at his tone,

“Thinking?” She said, confused about his turn, “I was thinking I wanted to get my feelings out in the open. I don’t want to end up with a kind of relationship I regret when I think there is potential for so much more.”

“Oh, great.” Draco snapped, throwing the towel back into the sink. “More? Do you seriously think there is anything more to get out of that? Wasn’t the first time enough, Hermione? What the bloody hell could Weasel-bee offer that is so good you’d go back to him?”

“Nothing!” Hermione shouted, “I’m trying to move on, Draco. I’m aware that I’ve had issues because of Ronald, but I am trying to work through them now-”

“Work through them?” Draco was shouting now, “How are you going to work through him having a child with another woman when you are pregnant with mine!”

“What? Look I know it’s pretty fucked up, Malfoy, but I think I can deal with more than one emotion at one time.” Hermione was pacing again, she’d wanted to come and have a calm adult conversation with him, but it was quickly going off the rails.

“So what? You’re just going to process his betrayal while crawling back into bed with him?” Draco ran a hand through his hair and looked at Hermione with a horrified look like he’d never seen her before and it disgusted him.

“That is disgusting! Why are you saying this?”

“Why are you going back to that bastard, then?” Draco pointed at her like she was the mad one in this conversation.

“I’m not!” Hermione threw her hands in the air, confused and angry by Draco's attitude. She had come here to tell him she had feelings for him and now she was being accused of what, going back to Ron?

Draco stopped shouting and frowned at Hermione, “You just said you were.”

“No.”

“No, you’re not going back to him or no, you didn’t just say you were?”

“Both!”

“I asked you if he was back in the picture-” Draco rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably and let out a breath as he looked at the ceiling.

“Why would you ask anything so daft?”

“I-” Draco slumped, “Fuck. Hermione, what is going on?”

“I have no idea.” Hermione leant against the counter, the energy quickly draining from her.

“Why are we fighting?”

“Seriously, I have no idea,” Hermione said, her hands outstretched in confused annoyance. 

They stood in silence for a few moments until Hermione straightened up and sighed,

“Look, can we just start over?”

Draco looked dubious. Hermione pulled out her wand and cleaned up the spilt coffee. Picking up Draco’s mug, she handed it to him.

“Hi.” She said, “Sorry to call in on you so early, Draco, please drink your coffee. I have something to discuss about our relationship.”

“Wait, what? Our relationship?”

“Shut it.” Hermione frowned at him, “Drink your coffee and go with it. We will communicate like adults if it’s the last thing I do.”

Draco gulped his drink, sputtering as he took too much of the steaming liquid. Hermione snorted, but Draco waved her off.

“Dearest Hermione,” he said through sputtering, “what a pleasure to invite you into my home this early morning. Pray, what is it you wish to discuss?”

He rolled his hand at her with a little flourish and Hermione snorted,

“Are you going to curtsy too?” She smirked, “No, sorry, adults.”

Draco smirked back over his mug as he drank more coffee. He looked a little more lively now, but Hermione wasn’t sure if it was because of the coffee or the shouting.

“I came to ask you if I accidentally pressured you into accepting us only being friends. If I had asked you before I told you what I wanted, would you have wanted something more?”

Draco’s eyes widened, and he set the coffee cup down.

“Hermione,” he said softly, “what is this about?”

“I just need you to answer the question, Draco.”

“I think I need to know what this is about.” He said stubbornly, and Hermione let out an annoyed breath.

“Please,” she took a step forward. “Do you see me as a friend or something else? I just need you to answer.”

Draco gulped, he appeared to be struggling with something for a time. Hermione let him think, hoping if she didn't interrupt he would work out whatever was going on in his mind and be forthright with her. Regardless of the outcome, Hermione just needed to know.

Rubbing his neck again Draco looked at the floor and spoke quietly,

“When I was in France, there were a bunch of old businessmen. We’d go out for dinner, trying to butter then up with Armagnac and fine dining. Stingy businessmen, but they were all family men in the end.” Hermione had no idea why he was telling her this, but she remained silent, waiting for her Draco to continue. “They kept trying to ask me if I had someone, a wife or a partner but we’re not together, and you don’t tell men you just met you knocked up someone you hated in school.”

Hermione snorted, and Draco smiled at her. She understood the feeling, she had no idea how to tell people she was expecting a child with Draco Malfoy of all people but not to worry, they were going to be _friends_. It was a mess.

“I had to sit there,” Draco continued, “and listen to them rambling on about their wives and then lie whenever they asked if I had someone. I had to tell them I wasn’t interested in dating when realistically a woman was waiting on me to come home who is pregnant with my child and who I am absolutely mad about.”

Hermione’s breath whooshed out of her. _Mad about her._ Draco was mad about her.

“Oh,” was all that she could say.

Draco finally looked up to meet her eyes. Hermione stared into his grey eyes and realised what a fool she had been. So terrified of starting something in case they got hurt that she didn’t realise she was bleeding them both dry from trying to keep them apart.

“So yes, Hermione, if you need my honest answer. I don’t want to be your friend, I want to wake up in your bed every morning and learn how you eat your eggs and hold you…” he trailed off, clearly unsure if he’d said too much, “And if you tell me you like my bird again, I swear I’ll-”

“I like _you_.” Hermione said, “I like you as more than a friend. I do like Apollo but what I meant was, getting your letters is the highlight of my day. You make me smile even when you’re not here.”

Draco took a step toward her, now close enough for him to cup her head in his hands. Hermione lent into him, his warmth and solid body reassuring and exciting her. Draco brushed his thumb against her lips. They parted softly, and Hermione felt herself melt into his touch. It was everything she had missed and everything she was terrified to lose.

“Draco,” she whispered.

He was staring intently at her lip.

“I have a confession.” He whispered, eyes still watching her lips as she spoke.

Hermione frowned, parting her lips in confusion as Draco spoke again.

“I’ve had feelings for you for a while, far longer than the Speck has been around.”

“What?” Hermione said incredulously.

“I’ve watched you through the years, all those banquets and galas. Through those dinners and speeches, I’m not sure when but I started paying more attention to you than to anything else or what anyone was saying.” Draco’s grey eyes looked up to hers, nervous and unsure now like he was revealing so much more of himself than he’d planned or was comfortable.

Hermione let out a small tittering laugh,

“Draco,” She hesitated, “We hated each other in Hogwarts. Now you’re telling me you’ve had a crush on me for years?”

Draco’s face paled at the mention of their Hogwarts years.

“I know, trust me, I am aware of how insane it sounds. And it didn’t start in Hogwarts, back then I was...” Draco’s jaw clenched, and he paused before speaking again. “It started a few years after the war when I started going to the charity functions for Malfoy Industries. You were always there, Weasley never attended with you, and I couldn’t help myself, seeing you was the highlight of my night.”

Hermione gulped,

“So,” She said, “I guess we have Blaise to thank for that. He’s the reason you started attending, wasn’t it?”

Draco snorted,

“Please don’t ever tell him that but yes, I suppose so. I had no idea when I hired him, it would turn my world upside down and land you in my grasp.” Draco sighed, “I didn’t want to watch you, I thought I was going mad at first. You were the know-it-all Gryffindor princess I hated for so many years, I was cruel and bigoted towards you. I thought it was some kind of strange self-destructive wish drawing me to you, tempting fate to crush me with regret for who I was. I never thought I would have a chance with you. I was quite content to watch you from afar.”

“What changed?” Hermione whispered.

“I saw you on my balcony, skipping the speeches.” Draco said softly with a small shrug, “And I don’t know why, maybe it was the champagne, but I decided to take a chance. I honestly thought you’d throw an insult at me, maybe a quick hex and then it would be over. I could go back to nursing my crush from across the room, and you’d keep on thinking of me as the ponce who deserved to be punched in the face by the third year.”

Draco cocked his head slightly to the side, eye narrowing as he watched her face in delighted confusion,

“But you didn’t. You took my hand and followed me into the Gala like it was nothing.” He said, thumb stroking against her cheek like he didn’t believe she was real. “Why?”

It was Hermione’s turn to be confused.

“I have no idea.” She smiled, “You were so raw and open that night, it just stood out compared to all the people inside with their stiff talk and bullshit attitude. You were out there, avoiding them and just being yourself. You offered an escape, to just enjoy myself when I’d held myself back for so long. I’m not sure why I decided to trust you, but I don’t regret it. Not any of it.”

“Hermione,” Draco sighed, “I don’t deserve you. Maybe you’re right about being friends, after everything that I did. With all our history…”

“Shut up.” Hermione cut him off, “Draco Malfoy, you are a good man. You’ve changed a lot since we were children, I don’t want to rehash any of that. What’s done is done. You’ve proved to me you’re a good man long before I followed you off that balcony. You changed long before you thought it would impress me and you did it for yourself, that is the most important part. You changed because you knew you could and you knew it was right. If I didn’t truly believe that I would never have taken your hand that night.”

Draco held her head softly in her hand, she lifted one hand and pressed her hand over his. He looked down at her, thumb still stroking gently across her skin.

“Please kiss me now,” Hermione whispered, desperate to feel his lips against hers. It had been over a month since she’d last touched him like this. She had desperately missed the connection she felt with him.

Draco leant to her then hesitated.

“No.” He said finally, and Hermione almost let out a heart-wrenching sob right there. “Not yet.”

Hermione furrowed her brow; she didn’t understand, and she didn’t want to wait. She needed to have him, to know him once more.

“What do you mean ‘not yet’?” she asked slowly, terrified he would rescind his words and tell her he didn’t want her anymore.

“We’re going to do this right.” He said, “We’ve rushed this twice already, and both times you’ve gotten scared away.”

Hermione shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. She couldn’t lose him, she needed to tell him how much she’d longed for him. For him to sit on the sofa with her and wear colourful socks and send her sugar quills.

“Draco, no. I won’t-” she said, but was cut off again by a shake of his head.

He pulled her closer to him.

“I’m going to do this right, Hermione. We’re going to go slow. We have time.” He said calmly, and with a small stroke of her cheek, he kissed her lightly on the forehead.

“Slow?” Hermione asked in confusion. She was trying to wrap her head around his meaning.

“Yes.” He said, “I’m going to take you on a date, walk you home and maybe I’ll kiss you goodnight.”

Hermione looked up at Draco and found him watching her with a small smirk. He dropped his hand away from her face and gently claimed her hand.

“Then I’ll take you a second date and impress you with all my knowledge of the books you like. Maybe after our third date, I’ll even let you get to second base.”

Draco winked at her, and she guffawed.

“But…” Hermione said, letting herself get tugged forward and finally leaning her head into his shoulder. “I really want to kiss you now.”

She felt Draco shrug,

“Too bad,” he said, “I don’t kiss until after the date. I’m very polite and proper like that.”

Hermione snorted,

“Draco, I’m already pregnant with your child.”

“I know.” He said, he tipped her chin back and looked at her with soft eyes. “That’s why I want to do this right. I’ve gone backwards so far. I adore you, Hermione. You’re going to have our child in six months, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have to woo you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you like our mini Harry POV?  
> Were Pads and Ginny a bit rough or was it about time to shake Hermione out of her life-is-miserable-love-is-dead trance? 
> 
> Oh, what's that I hear in the background? Can you hear it coming?  
> *flufffluffFluffFluffFLUFFFLUFF*  
> It's back, baby!
> 
> Nif 💙  
> Ps. Yes I am having a crumpet craving this week.  
> PPs. Please feel free to ignore this week's a/n, I am aware they're a little... uh, frenetic.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day when Hermione arrived at work, she found a single rose waiting for her on her desk.

**_Hermione,_ **

**_Let the wooing commence. What evening are you available this week?_ **

**_D.M_ **

Hermione sniffed the rose, holding it to her chest as she smiled. Maybe this wooing wouldn’t be so bad. She and Draco had parted on good terms the morning before, mostly as they both had to get to work and Hermione was pretty sure if she had to watch him in that tight shirt for any longer wooing was going out the window, and she was going to shag the man on the coffee-stained floor.

W.O.F. was busier than ever. Hermione flitted from meeting to meeting, barely seeing the inside of her own office where a mountain of paperwork awaited her. Mary, looking somewhat frantic, had managed to saddle more work onto Hermione even as she shouted down the hall that they needed more management staff.

Later that afternoon, covered in ink stains and buried in unreturned owls, Hermione sent a letter back.

_Draco,_

_At this rate, you’ll need to host another gala to get us in the same room. Mary has me organising a new project every day this month._

_Hope you don’t mind if the Speck is born under my desk, I’m never going to be able to leave my office ever again._

_I should be finished by eight_ _next_ _Friday, is late-night wooing appropriate?_

_Hermione._

_Ps. The Speck is the size of a kumquat this week._

That letter was followed by Misty herself. The little elf was apparently so concerned that Hermione was working too hard she’d forgotten to give Draco the message and apparated straight into Hermione’s office. Hermione supposed she should be glad, at least she hadn’t been in the middle of a meeting when the Malfoy elf appeared with a loud crack and a long wail.

It took Hermione almost ten minutes to get the house-elf to calm down, explaining that yes, she had to work, and no, she wasn’t trying to delay her date with Draco, and yes, she was trying to be prepared for the Speck. Misty had finally left Hermione’s office with the promise that if Hermione was going to be working, Misty would clean her flat and bring her regular meals.

Hermione was left with another small pile of ‘baby essentials’ lists as well as a catalogue in which Mistry had circled the two cribs she thought were best. Hermione couldn’t help chewing the inside of her cheek every time she filled another form and glanced at the pile of her other responsibilities. At the rate they were going, Misty would be the only one preparing for the Speck’s arrival.

She was only ten weeks along, Hermione tried to remind herself. Plenty of time for all that. Still, when Mary opened Hermione’s door, she quickly hid the pile in her drawer, realising that she would need to inform her boss soon. Already they felt understaffed. If Hermione was to go on maternity leave, their management staff would be almost halved in force.

 _Another thing to add to the list,_ Hermione grumbled to herself as she piled more work to her desk.

* * *

Hermione had had to explain what had happened to her friends. Ginny had cottoned on quickly when Hermione walked into their kitchen Thursday evening, a giddy expression on her face and another red rose in hand. Ginny squealed and yelled loudly,

“Did you tell him you love him, and snog him and tell him you want to have his ridiculously attractive babies?”

“Ginny… I’m already having his baby.”

“Oh right, what about the snogging stuff?” She’d waggled her eyebrows empathetically.

Harry had gotten up and hugged Hermione tightly,

“Are you happy?” He’d asked softly while Ginny danced madly in the background.

“Yes.” Hermione laughed, “Yes, I think I am.”

“Then I’m happy.”

“I have to tell Padma!” Ginny had run to the floor, cheering all the way.

“Ginny!” Harry yelled after her, “You’re not wearing pants!”

“Uh, Harry,” Hermione asked after his wife had sworn loudly and catapulted up the stairs, “Why is Ginny not wearing pants?”

Harry had just shrugged, and muttered something about ‘date night’. Hermione left quickly, assuring him she would let Padma know and to keep his wife to himself.

* * *

The following week was chaos. Hermione was in her office long before the sun rose and rarely left before dark. Misty appeared regularly, forcing her to pause throughout the day and eat. Thankfully no one really batted an eye at the house-elf, W.O.F. did a great deal with house-elf rights, and it wasn’t unusual to see them around the building.

Draco it seemed, wasn’t having an easier time at Malfoy Industries. Neither of them had a spare moment, but they wrote daily, often just small notes.

**_One of my investors suddenly thinks the colour of a potion is essential and could we ‘very quickly find a way to make it a nice appealing colour’... also if we could make it taste like peppermint. They are infuriating, is there no sanctity in the art of potion-making any longer?_ **

Misty delivered them, usually with a meal and Hermione would scribble a response while trying to multitask everything at once.

_Perhaps Professor Snape will come back to haunt them. One of the newest hires just asked if there was any chance we could move the wolfsbane distribution because she wants to go on holiday that week. Do you think it would be inappropriate for me to lock her in a cage with one of the werewolves because Cindy decided to give them wolfsbane the week after the full moon not before?_

Despite not seeing Draco, his notes were the highlights of her day. Their wooing seemed to now consist of handwritten notes and flowers. Some days there were bunches on her desk, others a single rose. Hermione had begun placing them around the office, the scent of the bouquet had her nose itching and stomach-turning, but she didn’t have the heart to tell Draco to stop. Not when they came with more notes.

**_Perhaps you should write to McGonagall. Please inform her there is a distinct lack of education regarding moon cycles and how not to poison yourself with peppermint flavoured potions._**

**_PS. What fruit is the Speck now?_ **

The attention hadn’t gone unnoticed by Hermione’s office mates. Penelope now had a large yellow and white boutique on her desk that she’d been given by Hermione on Monday.

“You’re going to have to tell us who it is sooner or later, Hermione.” She’d laughed as Hermione brushed a flower away from her face. “Is this display an attempt to entice you into going out with him or an apology?”

Hermione rolled her eyes,

“Neither. I’m already going out with him, this is just because we’ve had to delay our next date.”

Could you really call it a first date if you were already pregnant? Hermione wasn’t really sure about the logistics of their new relationship, but she supposed it would probably be for the best if she didn’t advertise that they were about to go on their first date when she was going to be obviously pregnant in the coming months.

“So it’s serious then?” Penelope winked and caused a faint heat to rise in Hermione’s cheeks.

“Yes,” she mumbled, “yes, I think it might be.”

She had to stop grinning like a fool so that she could write back to Draco.

_A Lime. Quite possibly a giant lime, Annabelle informed me that I looked quite bloated yesterday. Even Misty has suggested I think about maternity shopping, but I think she’s hoping I’ll come back with an entire room’s worth of furniture._

_Ps. Are we still on for Friday? Are you planning on telling me where we’re going or shall I just wear my joggers and hope for the best?_

He didn’t tell her where they were going but thankfully did inform her that the dress code would require something more than her frumpiest sweater.

* * *

Hermione glared at the pile of dresses on her bed.

“Bollocks.”

“Misty is sorry, Miss. Misty could be enlarging the dresses but…”

Misty’s eyes waggled as the house-elf looked at the dresses as well. Hermione didn’t have a lot of nice clothing, and the few nice dresses she did own were all form-fitting. She might not have thought much about her assets but she did have a relatively flat stomach, something that she let those dresses show off from time to time when she wasn’t drowning in robes.

Only now her stomach wasn’t flat. It was becoming significantly less flat. In the last week, Hermione had asked Misty to charm some of her skirts to stretch around the waist. They were hidden by her robes at work, so she hadn’t needed to worry about anyone noticing. Not too much, anyway.

The last thing Hermione wanted was for the Prophet to get a hold of the news she and Draco were dating and that she was pregnant at the same time. She needed at least a couple of weeks of breathing room between disasters.

“No.” Hermione sighed, “You’re right, they won’t look right.”

There was only so much magic could do to alter an existing dress. Bigger or smaller was fine, but Hermione would have to choose between looking pregnant or looking like she was wearing a sack. She rubbed a hand across her head.

“I’m going to call Padma.” Hermione struggled into her comfortable house clothes again while yawning, feeling strange with the baggy garments over her lacy lingerie.

Perhaps they were hopeful. Possibly a little too optimistic, Draco was supposed to be a gentleman after all. Hermione wondered if they could fit three dates into a weekend, her skin was heated just with the thought of him touching her again.

“Pads?” Hermione called through the floo, fire calling rather than barging as she might with the Potters' home. “Are you home? I’m having a pregnant lady clothing disaster.”

Padma’s face appeared in the fire, looking a little more dishevelled than usual.

“Is it for your date? Do you want me to come over?” Padma asked, “I can help you pick something out.”

“No, all my dresses make me look… well, as pregnant as I feel. I’d rather keep baby-geddon out of the press for a little longer, do you have anything I could borrow that won’t make me look like I’ve swallowed a watermelon.”

“You can’t possibly be that big.” Padma laughed.

“Certainly feels like it,” Hermione grumbled. It might have been a slight exaggeration, but after her week, she felt exhausted and cranky. Pregnancy was not conducive with working overtime. “Can I come over?”

Padma’s head disappeared from the flames and Hermione could hear some mumbling before Padma reappeared.

“Alright, give me one second, then come over.”

“Thank you!”

“You are so lucky you’re my best friend, Hermione. I might have to fight Ginny for Godmother.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “You sound like Blaise.”

Padma smirked, a ghostly flicker through the flames before she disappeared.

Hermione brushed the ash off her knees before finding Misty. Time was ticking, and at this rate, Draco would arrive before Hermione was dressed. A quick conversation with Misty and the house-elf reassured her that she would let Draco know he could wait for her in her flat.

Hermione stepped through the floo expecting Padma to be waiting for her. Instead, when she looked around, she found herself being inspected by the dark eyes of Blaise Zabini.

“Blaise… hi.” Hermione stared at the tall Slytherin lounging casually on the sofa, one foot folded over a knee and top button undone.

“Hermione,” Blaise said cheerfully as if this wasn’t terribly unusual. “You look lovely.”

She was wearing joggers and an old loose t-shirt. She raised an eyebrow at Blaise.

“You look…” She hesitated. Was flushed an appropriate word? She was pretty sure she had just interrupted a stimulating evening.

“Padma is upstairs,” Blaise didn’t look at all upset or embarrassed, despite interrupting her. “She said to send you up when you arrived.”

“Right,” Hermione said, walking around the sofa while she kept an eye on the wizard. “Thanks then.”

Hermione found Padma in the bedroom, digging through her wardrobe and dumping dress after dress onto her bed.

“Hermione!” She said happily as Hermione knocked on the open door, “I think I’ve found a few options, try these on.”

Hermione quickly had four different dresses stuffed into her hands. Padma’s cheeks were red, and one button on her shirt was misplaced.

“Padma,” Hermione laughed as she was shoved into the bathroom. “You could have just said something if you had company.”

“No!” Padma called through the door, “Everything is fine! Get dressed.”

It took at least twelve dresses and a few charms to find something that looked good and hid Hermione’s bump. Padma grumbled a few times about maternity shopping, but Hermione pointedly ignored her. She was more than willing to put off a grand shopping expedition for as long as she could. Muggle clothing would be fine, she could go buy plenty at any store in London without worrying about being seen, but wizarding robes were mostly still tailored, and Hermione did not trust Madame Malkin not to let slip Hermione’s new waist measurement.

Padma stuffed Hermione into heels and smiled,

“You look brilliant.”

She was wearing a soft red dress that fit her breasts snuggly, pushing them up to heights Hermione didn’t know were possible. The dress hugged the top of her waist then flared, enough structure to the material to hide her stomach and as Padma had muttered ‘thank Merlin you’re sitting low’. The dress fell to her knees and had cute lace cap sleeves that Padma patted, happy with her work. Hermione patted her dress nervously, instinctively flattening a hand over her stomach. Padma’s eyes widened,

“Just don’t do that while you’re out or everyone will know.”

Hermione grimaced. She wondered if she could put a notice-me-not charm on her own stomach. Hermione yawned a few times while Padma compared earrings.

“Stop yawning!” She admonished, “You’re meant to be excited about tonight!”

“I am.” Hermione yawned again, “I’m just so tired.”

A few extra minutes of fiddling and earring selection and Padma officially deemed Hermione date-ready. They both hurried down the stairs.

“You look lovely, Hermione.” Blaise had been waiting patiently on the sofa, “Draco is a lucky man.”

Hermione gave him a nervous smile,

“Thank you. Do you think he’ll like it?” Hermione gave him a spin and Blaise nodded.

“That man would take you in the joggers. Seriously, you will never know how happy I am to not hear him wallow every day at work.” His eyes flashed mischievously as he spoke.

Hermione didn’t have any time to quiz him on that or his presence on Padma’s sofa before Padma was rushing her into the floo and warning her not to get soot on the dress. With a roll of her eyes, Hermione threw down the floo powder and was gone.

“Wow.” Draco’s honey tones greeted her as Hermione stepped into her own flat again, “You look amazing.”

Draco was sitting on the sofa, eyes travelling the length of her body and back up.

Hermione shrugged, it had been so much effort to get in, and after the numerous dresses Padma had given her she mostly just felt tired now. Her hair had escaped its charms and was now puffing wildly around her shoulders, rouge curls lying snared in the wrong directions and others sat straight up into the air. She tried patting them down, it would take too much energy to fight them back into submission.

“Thank you.” Hermione grinned a little, it was still nice of him to say. "Are you aware that Blaise is at Padma’s flat right now? I think I interrupted something.”

Draco raised his eyebrows.

“I didn’t, no.” He smirked, “He mentioned he was seeing a friend tonight but not whom.”

“Looked a little more than friendly to me.”

“Really?” Draco rubbed his chin, contemplating something on his shoes quietly.

“You look very Slytherin right now.” Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you really going to blackmail Blaise with this information?”

“Yes,” Draco looked absolutely unapologetic as he smirked at her. “Slytherin remember. Blaise has been tormenting me for months about you, it’s nice to have the upper hand for once.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. _Slytherins_. She supposed, under all the layers of ridiculous Slytherin antics, she could see a little glimmer of sweetness in his words. Draco had been interested in her for months. Even after he had told her it was surprising. His eyes roamed over her now, mind diverted from Blaise and Padma as he focused on Hermione. She smirked a little as his eyes paused on her breasts, they were bigger than usual and pushed up with the dress rather than hidden behind robes.

“Sorry to leave you here alone, I had to make a last-minute trip to Padma’s place to find something that actually fits.”

Draco raised a quick eye-brow but wisely said nothing. Hermione paused and smirked, realising this was one of those things he was missing out when they weren’t together all the time. Hermione walked to Draco and gestured for him to take her hand. She pulled it closer and placed his palm on her rounded stomach. Padma had given her a dress that did wonders at hiding the ever-growing bump. Even in the last week and a half, it had changed significantly, and Hermione was beginning to wonder how much longer they would be able to hide it.

Draco’s fingers spread out over her firm, rounded stomach.

“Merlin,” he breathed quietly.

Draco sat down on the edge of the sofa, eyes round and bright. Hermione moved closer as he lifted his other hand.

“May I?” He asked, nodding to her stomach.

“Yes, Draco.” Hermione smiled.

Draco pressed both hands to her stomach, smoothing the dress over her skin and revealing the bump. He looked up at her then, his grey eyes finding hers, and she could understand the emotions he was going through. She’d had hers more gradually, adjusting to the changes in her body over the past few weeks but for Draco, it was a lot to take in. Even at her last check-up, she had barely begun showing, nothing more than a swollen bump. Now there was no doubt something in her body was changing. Draco smiled up at her softly,

“You’re making this incredibly difficult.”

“Making what difficult?”

“Being a gentleman,” Draco said, “and not kissing you until after our date.”

Hermione pressed her hands over Draco’s and tried her best seductive smile, regardless of the curls that flopped over her eyes.

“Good because I don’t want to wait.”

Draco growled under his breath, but Hermione smirked when he rose, arms shifting to hold her around the waist and pulling her body to his chest. Hermione slid her hands up his arms, appreciating the definitions of his muscles under his robes. She stared at his lips, remembering the way they felt on hers and wondering if it would be different this time. Almost every time before had been passionate, formidable and nearing on desperate. They bit and nipped, trying to devour each other, but now they had time. Draco tipped his head to hers, nose brushing her own as he kissed her gently on one cheek.

Hermione let out a tiny groan, and Draco chuckled. He kissed her on the nose, then again on the other cheek. Hermione’s hand gathered his blond hair in her grasp, almost ready to drag him to her and push her own lips against his.

“Patience, Hermione,” Draco whispered, dropping a kiss on her jaw as she huffed at him.

Draco’s hand cupped her cheek, tipping her head back as he looked down at her and she waited on bated breath as he tilted, his lips brushing her own. They were as soft as she remembered. Even when he was brutal in his attentions, she had felt his tenderness. Now he brushed against her, the touch only feather-light.

“Draco,” Hermione moaned as he teased her, “Please.”

Draco smiled but just as his lips touched her own, pressing in to relieve her tension, the flat filled with a loud ringing. Draco jumped at the obnoxious noise, frowning as he looked around then back at Hermione who leaned her head back and groaned at the interruption.

“What in Merlin’s name is that?” Draco asked, clearly annoyed as well.

“It’s my phone.” Hermione sighed, slipping from his embrace and walking to the kitchen. “A muggle communication device, only my parents have the number though.”

Hermione stopped in front of the phone, letting out a huff and trying to compose herself. It was not appropriate to answer the phones to one’s parents hot and about ready to rip off a man’s trousers to have their way with him.

“Hi, Mum.”

“Hello, darling. Can you hear me?”

“Bloody contraptions,” Draco muttered in the background, flopping down onto the sofa.

“Yes, Mum. I-”

“Darling,” Hermione’s mother paused, “Is that a man in your flat?”

Hermione cringed. This was not what she wanted to be doing with her night. She wanted to hang up and go back to the kissing. Hopefully, some snogging. If she was fortunate, she’d get Draco to ditch the whole gentleman outlook and shag her silly.

“A man?” Hermione’s father’s voice interjected through the line. “What’s a man doing in your flat?”

“Oh, Richard.” Hermione’s mother scolded. “Hermione, dear, is this what you wanted to talk to us about? Is there a new man in your life?”

“I, uh,” Hermione rubbed her forehead, she supposed it wasn’t the worst thing to introduce the idea to them. “Yes, there is. I’m about to leave; actually, we’re going on a date.”

 _Please hang up and let us go_ , she prayed. She didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone with the connection garbling through from the other side of the world.

“A date?” Hermione’s dad yelled, and there was a scuffling noise through the phone. “Hermione, you put that man on the phone right now, young lady.”

“Dad, no.” Hermione groaned, he’d gotten somewhat over-protective since her divorce with Ron.

“Hermione Jean Granger, put that man on the phone right this instance or so help me I will fly back there tonight to-”

“Alright, alright.”

Hermione held the phone to Draco, who looked at her like she was barmy.

“Just talk into it normally.” She said, “My father wants to speak to you.”

“Granger.” Draco groaned.

“Please. Better now than…”

She nodded down to her stomach, and Draco’s eyes widened. He held out his hand and took the phone gingerly as if it would sting him.

“Hello?” He asked tentatively. “Yes, sir… Draco Malfoy… Yes, I will… Of course, sir…. Yes, sir. Thank you… I look forward to meeting you too.”

Draco handed the phone back to Hermione, looking only a shade paler than usual.

“Dad?” Hermione said into the phone.

“It’s me, dear.” Her mother's chipper voice said. Hermione suppressed a sigh.

“Oh, Mum. What did Dad say?”

“He grunted, dear. You know what he’s like. That's about as close to approval as you’re going to get for now.”

Hermione nodded, her father was a man of few words and even fewer chances. Their relationship had been strained after the war, she had tried to explain that she had done what she thought was necessary, but Richard Granger was a hard man to convince of just about anything.

Where he was calculating and logical, Hermione’s mother, Jeanette, was emotional and passionate.

“When do I get to meet him?” Jeanette asked, chuckling through the line. “What does he look like? Is he fit?”

“Eugh, Mum.” Hermione wrinkled her nose, “Surely, this isn’t why you called me?”

“Oh, right.” Jeanette said, “Actually, no. I was calling to tell you our flight got delayed, so we’ve just decided to stay for a couple of weeks longer.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. Shit, she really didn’t want to tell them about the pregnancy over the phone, but now she would have to wait even longer for them to get back. What if she was showing by then? Her father had just reacted poorly to discovering a man in her life, what would he do when he found out she was knocked up? “Really? When will you be back?”

“Not until mid-march, darling.”

 _Who extends a trip by a month just because their flight gets cancelled?_ Her bloody parents, apparently.

“March?” Hermione groaned, ‘Seriously, Mum, you’ve been gone for… ages.”

“I know, but well, we’re basically retired now. What with the practice being sold…” Hermione’s mother trailed off, and Hermione mimed banging her head on the wall while Draco snorted. Hermione had sold their clinic during the war, she’d sold their house during the war. She was the one to send them to Australia in the first place, and this wasn’t the first time her mother had reminded her of it.

“I know, Mum, I’m sorry.” Hermione paced around the room while she spoke. “March is fine, I hope you enjoy your holiday.”

“Thank you, darling.” Hermione’s mother got distracted by something in the background, “Darling, I have to go. When we get back, I want to meet that man of yours alright?”

“Yes, sure, Mum,” Hermione said, but the phone was already beeping in her ear. She threw it back on the base, and with a groan, she flopped onto the sofa next to Draco.

“I don’t know why, but I always expected you to be close to your parents.” Draco’s face was a mixture of pity and curiosity as he watched her.

“We used to be,” Hermione admitted. “At least, I was with my Dad. It’s always been a little… strained with Mum like we’re on different wavelengths. With Dad, we were always just… together. Reading books, tinkering in the garage- neither of us minded the quiet, whereas Mum always wanted to talk.”

Hermione shifted to look at Draco, she leant her head on the back of the sofa and Draco reached out to take one of her hands.

“We used to make these pillow forts,” Hermione smiled at the memory, “and eat pancakes for dinner. Now it’s strained, he loves me, but I can always see the fear in his eyes. He was so proud of me when I got my Hogwarts letter, but he can’t even look at my wand without shivering. The magic scares them. I sent them away during the war and ever since it’s been… not the same.”

Draco nodded,

“Mother and I used to hide under the blankets,” he said, “she’d read to me by wand light, and Misty would sneak us icecream. She’s in France now, she never really recovered after Father went to Azkaban and she refuses to return to Britain.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, squeezing his hand.

“I’m sorry about your parents, too. I heard what you did, you were only trying to protect them.”

“Thanks.” Hermione gulped a little, hoping the question that came to her lips didn’t upset the small balance they had found. “Have you told your mother about… well, about the Speck.”

Draco nodded, but from the twisted grimace on his face, Hermione presumed it wasn’t good news.

“That bad?” Hermione could only imagine what Narcissa Malfoy thought of her. Draco pursed his lips and then shook himself.

“Let’s not talk about that now.” Draco tried to smile, “We’re meant to be going on a date.”

Hermione tried to smile. She wanted to go out with Draco, she’d been looking forward to their date all week. Neither of them moved from the sofa; instead, they sat there for a few minutes just holding hands.

“You’re not really feeling it are you?” Draco asked after a while.

Hermione grimaced, trying to put on a happy face.

“No!” She smiled awkwardly, “I am. Let’s go, you’ve got it all planned out, and it was so romantic and-”

Draco’s raised eyebrow cut her off, and she groaned.

“No, I’m sorry. I am so tired, Padma made me try on so many dresses, but you’re wooing. There is wooing to do.” Hermione tried to get up, but Draco dragged her back down to him, closer this time.

“It’s fine, Hermione.” He said, kissing her forehead. He seemed to ponder for a few minutes then smiled, “Go get changed, something comfortable. I’ll get everything ready. Wear your pyjamas.”

Draco pushed her off the sofa while Hermione tried to protest.

“Go.” He urged, “I’ve got an idea. You will be wooed.”

Hermione looked at Draco bemused as she walked into her bedroom and changed. She’d left her comfortable house clothes at Padma’s, but she pulled out a pair of flannel pyjamas from her drawers and changed slowly.

The top didn’t fit. It threatened to burst a button around Hermione’s breasts, and she resigned herself to a maternity shopping day in the near future. Digging a singlet out of her pile of clothes, Hermione put that on so that the pyjama top could hang open.

Hermione poked her head out of her bedroom,

“Are you ready?”

“No!” Draco’s voice was muffled, and Hermione could hear a disturbing amount of shuffling coming from her sitting room.

She slunk back into her bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting. Hermione glanced around, trying to distract herself when her eyes fell on the pile of knitted baby things Misty had been making her. It had grown... significantly. Hermione narrowed her eyes as she went to it. There was now at least two of everything. Baby booties, little bonnets, cardigans and blankets teetered in a stack.

“Blimey.”

Before she could examine the extensive collection, Draco called from the sitting room, “Alright, ready!”

Hermione was chuckling to herself, wondering what he had planned when she caught sight of her flat. Hermione’s furniture has been pushed back to the wall, in the middle of the room blanket were suspended in the air forming a tent-like structure. Underneath Draco had nestled all of the sofa cushions and blankets. Draco himself was standing in front of the structure. He’d changed clothes, gone were the black robes and now he wore dark green and silver pyjama bottoms and a grey long sleeve shirt. He looked cosy and comfortable.

“It’s amazing.” Hermione breathed, spotting the low hanging orbs of light in the dim room.

“Are you wooed?” Draco asked, holding his hand out to her.

“Yes,” Hermione laughed, “Oh my gods, yes. This is incredible, Draco.”

Draco lifted the edge of the floating blanket, letting Hermione into their fort. She couldn’t help the childish giggle that escaped her lips as she lay in the cushions. Draco had obviously used charms to soften the ground underneath them, it was like lying in a pile of feathers. Draco settled himself next to her.

“Is this ok?” he asked, “It’s not exactly the fine dining I had planned, but Misty is bringing pancakes and ice cream.”

Hermione thought she may actually melt.

“This is perfect.” It took effort in the soft fort, but Hermione managed to throw herself over a pillow and hug Draco. “Thank you.”

“Misty helped,” he said, “and brought me clothes.”

Draco lift a foot. Hermione looked down and was rewarded when she noticed his colourful socks. They were green and red this time, with little broomsticks. He was perfect, and Hermione looked up into his eyes, drinking in the sight of him.

“Does this count as you taking me home now?” She asked, “because I would very much like to kiss you.”

Draco smiled, and this time he didn’t tease her. His lips were soft and warm as he dipped his head and kissed her gently. It was delicate and slow like they had all the time in the world to taste and savour one another. Hermione mussed his hair with her hands, she loved how soft it was without the hair gel he had been so fond of in Hogwarts. Draco’s hands found her waist and pulled her into his lap, encircling her as he groaned softly.

They broke the kiss with a soft gasp, both panting slightly.

“Gods, I’ve missed this.” Hermione murmured, eyes half-closed. “You are ridiculously good at kissing.”

Draco leant his forehead against hers,

“Never let me be stupid enough to stop kissing you ever again.”

Draco kissed her again, even as she smiled and held him tightly. Hermione was kissing him again, more fervently this time when they were interrupted by the pops of two plates appearing by their side.

“Misty.” Draco mumbled as Hermione wrapped herself around him, “Pancakes…. Ice cream melting… Granger.”

“Hmmm.” Hermione finally pulled away to look at their awaiting food. “Oh, right. Food.”

Draco snorted as her stomach rumbled at the sight of the pancakes. He passed her a plate, and they sat under the blanket fort, eating their pancakes.

“Tell me about your family,” Draco said, licking ice cream off his thumb. “What was it like growing up as a muggle?”

Hermione laughed, completely forgetting for a moment that the wizarding world was all he knew.

Hermione munched on her pancakes, enjoying her childhood stories around mouthfuls of Misty’s cooking. Draco’s colourful socks rested against her leg as he listened. He frowned on occasion, interjecting with questions or comments. Most of which came from him not understanding how muggle’s coped without magic.

Hermione tried explaining football to him, but with her poor Quidditch knowledge the analogies became a mess, and she told him it would be best if he asked her father to explain it to him. At least they would have something to talk about.

Their plates were discarded, and Hermione leant against Draco, while he rubbed circles against her hand.

“Are you tired?” He whispered when she yawned and leant her head against him.

“No,” Hermione lied. She didn’t want him to leave, not yet. She was enjoying herself, talking to him, having him close to her. “Do you want to watch a film on the telly?”

“The telly?” He mussed, “You still haven’t explained what they are. Tiny plays, you said?”

Hermione laughed. She got up and opened her small tv cabinet, revealing her little box television. It wasn’t new, but for her, it worked, that and the old DVR player underneath it.

“In the spirit of blanket forts, I think we’ll watch something that I liked when I was younger.” She grabbed a case from the cabinet and put the tape in.

“Ready?” Hermione asked as the speakers came to life.

“As I’ll ever be,” Draco mumbled.

Hermione crawled through the blankets back to him. Draco sat up, pulling her into his lap comfortably. The affection seemed to come effortlessly between them. Touching one another just seemed right somehow. Hermione pulled a blanket over them as music played.

“ _Once upon a time in a faraway land a young prince lived in a shining castle…”_

“Hermione,” Draco frowned as the animations moved across the screen. “What on earth-”

“Shh,” Hermione snuggled closer, “It’s called Beauty and the Beast. Don’t question, just enjoy.”

Draco humphed behind her. The narration continued, and Hermione tried not to laugh as she felt him frowning behind her.

“You know,” he said. “You’re lucky I’m trying to woo you because this is ridiculous. Why wouldn’t someone just reverse the curse? Obviously, witches exist in this drawing world…”

“Draco, it’s magic.”

“Exactly.”

“No, it’s muggle magic. Just accept it as fantasy and move on. The prince is cursed, only Belle can save him now.”

“Who?”

“Oh,” Hermione turned to him. “Just watch!”

“Fine.” He groaned at her but remained silent for the majority of the movie.

It wasn’t what Hermione had imagined, dating Draco Malfoy. It wasn’t what she imagined was normal for any first date but somehow leaning against him as her eyelid grew heavy, Hermione knew it was right for them. Everything they did was in the wrong order but knowing that Draco wanted to be there with her, even when she was exhausted and in her pyjamas was perfect.

Hermione looked up at Draco. His forehead was still crinkled into a small frown, grey eyes tracking the singing animations across the screen while they invited him to be their guest. He looked like he was studying the muggle contraption more than actually watching the story play out.

Draco noticed her staring up at him, and his face relaxed as he looked down.

“Why are you staring at me? Shouldn’t you be watching your play?”

“ _Mmm_.” Hermione was happy. Things felt good. Draco was there, Draco wanted to be with her, and maybe, just maybe, everything wouldn’t be a complete disaster. She reminded herself not to cry about it. “You know you’re rather pretty.”

Draco snorted, “You rather pretty yourself.”

“Thank you.” Hermione wrapped an arm around his waist, “Not for saying I’m ‘rather pretty’ but for tonight.”

“You’re welcome.” Draco dipped his head to kiss her, “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

His lips were soft against hers as Hermione pulled Draco down onto their blanket pile. His leg slipped between hers as he pressed his hips against her.

“Oh god, Draco.” Hermione moaned softly, “You’re not really going to make me wait until the third date to get to the second base, are you?”

“Maybe,” Draco kissed her jaw and down her neck, “I’m pretty sure I still have books to impress you with. And the actual date I’d planned. Wooing can’t be rushed, Miss Granger.”

“I’m wooed” Hermione groaned, pushing her chest upwards as he kissed her collarbone. “Consider me wooed. This is my official certification in being wooed.”

“Say ‘wooed’ one more time, Hermione.” Draco laughed into her skin. “What exactly would you like other than to be wooed?”

Draco pulled back from her, his blond hair dangling over his forehead. Hermione latched her hands around his neck and looked at him steadily.

“Fucked.” She growled, “Shagged. Ravished. Call it what you want, Draco, I just want you.”

Draco’s eyes blew out. His dark pupils engulfing the grey of his irises as he watched her lips.

“Fuck,” He groaned, “How am I meant to say no to that? You know that’s not playing fair.”

Hermione lifted her head, catching his lip with her teeth and nipped at him.

“Good.” She mimicked one of his smirks, “I don’t want to play fair, Draco, I want to play dirty.”

Draco leant his hips into hers, she could feel his bulge pressing against her as she kissed the side of his mouth. Teasing him with gentle kisses as she rubbed herself against him, testing his resolve.

Draco seemed to consider it for a moment before he broke. He pushed Hermione down with his body, his lips finding hers and kissing her with a bruising passion. She let out a happy little victory noise as his hands found her waist and began pushing at her shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dumps Fluff* I did it. 
> 
> This week has been a strugggle (yes, three g's that how struggle-y it was), my computer has decided that turning itself off every twenty minutes is now a fun past time. I'm trying to muddle through while I get it fixed, but between misbehaving laptops, houseguests and an over-enthusiastic number of fests that I signed up for things are taking a little longer than usual. 
> 
> Anyway, hoped you enjoyed this very fluffy chapter! Ready for a little smut?
> 
> Nif.


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